Sparkles in the Pavement
by Mackenzie L
Summary: No one ever had to tell Renesmee that she was special. She just knew. — A sweet series of mundanely momentous events in the life of a child. Multiple one-shots: Carlisle x Esme, & Nessie. Winner of 2 HR Awards.
1. Sparkles in the Pavement

**Sparkles in the Pavement**

**by Mackenzie L.**

_Originally a one-shot, now a series. _

_I was so thrilled by the positive response to this, and since I've heard there isn't enough Nessie/grandparent fiction out there, I feel obligated to continue. Many of the memories you will read here are based on true observations from my own childhood. Read on to see how many you have in common! :) _

_***** Stephenie Meyer is the one and only owner of the Twilight Saga._

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No one ever had to tell Renesmee that she was special. She just knew.

Keeping her distance from the other children never bothered her. She was an independent and curious little soul.

It was important to let the curious explore on their own. And so, Carlisle and Esme sat a fair distance away from the toddler, watching from afar what their immortal eyes could never miss.

Here, they were just another young couple among so many who came to the park on a Sunday afternoon. They always took the same bench, every time they came to the park – the one that was furthest away from the playground, in the grass, under the tree with the tiny white blossoms. It was always empty and waiting for them, as if the other families knew it had been claimed since the very first day.

It had been Esme's idea to visit the park. She sometimes passed the playground on her way to the market, and the sights and sounds of giggling children had been stirring a happy inspiration in her mind for some time. Finally, she shared the proposition with her husband; then shortly after, with their granddaughter.

Nessie was anything but wary when it came to embarking on a new adventure. For her first time, they'd taken her early in the morning, before the sun had even yet to rise. It would be best, they thought, if she had the chance to explore without the intrusion of other clashing curiosities.

She was still drowsy when they buckled her into the car, but her eyes were wide by the time they pulled into the lot.

Nessie was stunned by the playground in all its charming simplicity. She was captivated by the lack of complexity in an environment that had been specially designed for the minds and bodies of her unique age. Everything was perfect, shining, and just the right size. It was full of surprises, without being overwhelming. It was safe without entirely eradicating that mild sensation of lingering dangers.

The playground _was _adventure – all neatly packaged inside a splinterless square perimeter, a multi-colored plastic kingdom upon a vast bed of cedar chips.

Nessie loved the playground.

They took her there again and again; she just never grew tired of it. Each time they went, she discovered something new.

Twelve days ago, she stepped in the sandbox for the first time. It was like a tiny beach, she'd said. She'd trailed sand behind her for hours afterward, but it had been worth it. She didn't ask to go to La Push nearly as often as she'd asked to go back to that sandbox.

Last week, she decided to try the tallest slide. It was the most intimidating, not only because of its height, but because sliding through an enclosed tube of dark purple plastic required courage on the part of a three-year-old child. Esme held her hand while she climbed to the top, and Carlisle promised to catch her at the bottom.

Three days ago, she discovered the water fountain. It was shallow and full of shiny coins. Once she'd seen other children tossing coins into the water, and she asked politely if she could try it.

It was a lucky thing that her grandfather always had spare change on his person.

_"Remember to make a wish," _her grandmother reminded.

Nessie's silver dollar was still there, a few inches from the center of the bowl. It seemed to sparkle more than all the others.

Carlisle and Esme often found themselves wondering what she had wished for.

Sometimes, when Nessie grew bored with the playground, they would take a walk around the path that encircled the park. Nessie stayed between them always, each of her hands being hugged by one of theirs while they walked. Sometimes they lifted her up off the ground, and she would laugh... delightful, sparkly, naturally captivating baby laughter.

Esme was addicted to the sound. She would often catch her husband's eye, finding his glance just as overflowing with significance; he knew precisely why she always sought his gaze at that moment the laughter began. Esme could not help it. Seeing her own joy reflected in Carlisle's eyes just made the sensation infinitely more poignant.

Nessie's laughter worked like an adhesive between their gazes. It was unfathomable to them that no matter how many times they repeated whatever had elicited that laughter in the first place, it always came back, just as strong and just as amazingly enthused as before. They _had _to look at each other when they heard it – it was not a choice – it was a necessity.

For the perils of this deliciously joyful trap, they found themselves locking gazes more often than not.

Nessie kept right on laughing.

It seemed as if no one in the park could resist looking over to see who had made such a distressingly beautiful sound.

As a family who must be set apart from the rest, the Cullens did not _try_ to draw attention to themselves, but sometimes it could not be helped. Nessie was a hard one to ignore.

Never did a day go by where Nessie failed to mention something about the park. If being held, she would sometimes pass the visions forward... those fond snapshots from her memory – perched at the top of the slide, on the highest lookout at the crest of the jungle gym, tiny fingers sprinkling sand in the grass...

Nessie may never have guessed just how much her grandparents loved going to the park, too. Maybe even more than _she _did.

They never considered it a shame that the sunshine sometimes kept them at bay. They had all the sunshine they needed when they brought Nessie with them.

Even on the more crowded days, they could hear her heartbeat rising up over all the others. It wasn't because it was louder, or faster, or closer. It was pure instinct; they just knew.

As was the purest of instincts, Carlisle clasped his wife's hand as they watched their granddaughter approach the long-neglected swing set at the far end of the playground.

The other children rarely used the swings – they seemed to have little interest in the more daring of activities, instead choosing to spend their time stationary, closer to the ground. But Nessie was a regular thrill-seeker – a trait, they liked to tease, she must have inherited from her mother.

Her tiny hands reached out to clutch both chains of the swing, and she gave an experimental push, perhaps to test its reliability. Her chin tipped up as she raised her glossy brown eyes to the top of the swing, silently marveling at the strangeness of the foreign contraption. Her little pink lips parted in wonder, and with a look of determination, she gracefully hoisted her weight onto the seat of the swing.

After pausing to adjust to the shift in balance, she slowly began to rock her stubby legs back and forth, every ounce of effort harnessed to set herself in motion.

Esme muffled a helpless chortle of sympathy, the touch of her amusement promptly infecting her husband. Hands still linked, they kept still for a while longer just to watch and wait for what may happen, consistently victimized by their granddaughter's witless charms.

How would the solution to this miniature dilemma come about? They wondered.

_"Should we help her, do you think...?" _One would ask the other, concerned that their distance might be read as neglect.

The other would tighten the tangle of their hands in reassurance, and with a smile, settle. _"No, let her try for just a little bit longer..."_

It was getting late, and while the other children were saying their goodbyes, Nessie was still there... the lone little girl on the swing set, hopelessly determined to find a way up to the sky.

She tried a few more variations on the forward kick, but coaxing no luck to come her way, she finally surrendered herself to the helpless stare.

Her eyes targeted the familiar couple on the other end of the park, her stare wide and helpless as she sat, still as a baby doll on the motionless swing.

That was the stare God had so expertly designed for caregivers alone – the aching creation of two pleading eyes – silently asking for just a bit of help...

Neither Carlisle nor Esme was ever very skilled at resisting such a heart-tugging sight. Their sensitivity simultaneously seized them, and by mutual and somewhat urgent instinct, they rose to their feet and abandoned their bench in favor of their struggling granddaughter.

Without a word, Carlisle walked up behind the swing, and taking both chains into his hands, he told Nessie to hold on tight.

And soon enough, she was flying, like the chocolate-curled cherub they knew her to be, with her chubby legs flailing out to the sky and her hands gripping tightly to the chains.

She giggled her perfect, sparkly baby laughter, and it echoed all for them as the park steadily cleared out and the sky steadily darkened.

They asked her many times if she was ready to come down yet, but she consistently refused their offers. There was no way for either Carlisle or Esme to refuse _her. _If she chose to, Nessie could keep them there all night long - if she chose to, she could ask to be pushed higher and higher, and never come down. And they would be trapped there forever, watching her kick the clouds on her endless swing.

They wondered if she knew just how much power she had over them.

She went on and on, and no matter how Carlisle might try to discreetly lighten the force of each push, she noticed immediately and insisted that he keep her going higher.

There was something enchanting she'd found in that swing. It was the stuff of miracles really, how no matter how much energy it took from her, she seemed to generate her own energy from the act itself. No matter how breathless she became, or how much effort it might have taken to help keep herself aloft, she only grew more excited and more determined to fly higher yet.

But even the most energetic and restless of children will recognize that playtime must, at one time, come to an end.

Esme noticed the signs first – the droopy eyelids, the bashful yawns, the loosening of little fingers around the cold rusty chains. The soft squealing song of back and forth soon replaced the sparkly giggles of the one who lethargically wore the ride down. She hardly noticed when the aid of stronger hands behind her had ceased their gentle pushes, but she did notice the moment when her feet finally brushed the dirt beneath the swing.

Some of that dirt got into her sandals, but nothing looked dirty on their precious Renesmee. She made that pressed brown dirt look like cocoa powder. She was just that sweet.

She looked up with bleary brown eyes, silently confirming with her audience that the ride was now over. She had landed at last from her long flight.

Although Carlisle and Esme did not dare tell her, they knew that soon, she would be able to fly on her own.

It sometimes made them sad to think that one day, maturity would wind their granddaughter in its graceful embrace, as it often did to those young girls who met their prepubescent years. She would no longer find the playground a place of adequate adventure – she would seek out newer and bigger adventures, outside the perimeter of wood chips and laughing children. She would need no one to carry her in and out.

But for now, she asked to be carried.

Her soft, small arms used their humble power for the final time that evening, using the last of their exertion to reach up for the one who would gladly accept her weight.

They had a long walk back to the car. It was at least thirty yards.

When everyone else had gone home, it was safe for the sun to show its face, just for a little while before it set. The sun, it seemed, was in on their secret.

In the smooth orange light of evening, their ethereal flesh would twinkle in the light while Nessie glowed, unaware. Carlisle felt her tiny fingers prodding at the glistening points in his neck and the sensation made his heart, in turn, reach for the sky.

Esme walked behind her husband so that she could watch the face of the little angel who rested her chin on his shoulder. It was so mesmerizing to watch the girl, Esme often wished that the walk to their car had been just a few more yards longer.

And as they walked away from the playground, always the last ones to leave, the pavement glittered its farewell underneath their feet.

The mystery remains for many people, why the pavement only glitters in some light. There are myths that only the young at heart can see the spell cast upon the ground; only the ones who believe can see those precious pinpoints of silver and gold... It was so easy to miss them if you were not paying close enough attention.

But it was with a sudden burst of alertness that Renesmee pointed to the ground, over her grandfather's shoulder, and asked them in a secret whisper, _"Can you see the sparkles, too?"_

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_**A/N:** For anyone interested, the banner I made for this story__ can be found in a link on my profile. _

_Thank you for reading! And reviews are like sparkles in the pavement to me. ^^_


	2. One Part Awkward, Four Parts Perfect

**Chapter 2:**

**One Part Awkward; Four Parts Perfect**

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There is a beauty to be discovered in the awkwardness of a child's posture.

Although they may assemble their tiny bodies into different positions throughout the day, there is a lingering quality that uniquely colors every movement and stance. It is four parts awkward; one part perfect.

Watching her granddaughter struggle to tie her shoes on the last step of the basement staircase, Esme couldn't help but think Renesmee was the reciprocal of this particular rule.

She was one part awkward; four parts perfect.

She defied the natural balance of the earth's axis, with the feathery weight of her body perched on the edge of the step, with the natural bend of her pudgy knees, and with the way her bottom lip pooched out as she concentrated on the knots of her shoelaces.

Esme offered to help, but Nessie liked to be independent. She was so much like her dear father in that way.

_"Remember the bunny ears, Nessie." _

Surprisingly agile little fingers finally managed to twirl the pale pink laces into something cohesive. Twin loops came together, and like magic, they were entwined... albeit too loose to last for more than a few steps. But Esme would never let her trip.

The garage was humid and it smelled like gasoline. Nessie didn't like the smell of gasoline. If her shoelaces came untied, they got all gray and scummy when she dragged them on the ground. It was much nicer when someone was there to carry her.

Esme lifted her into the car, even when the child insisted she could climb in by way of her own strength. She was tucked into her special car seat with the purple dragonflies on it, and was supplied with a Tupperware cup full of Cheerios to keep her content for the ride. Sometimes the trick worked; sometimes it didn't.

Nessie favored her grandmother's car above all the rest of her family's. Sure, Uncle Emmett's jeep was cool, and Aunt Alice's Porsche was fast, but there was a flashy feminine quirk, an indefinable quality about Esme's classy Cadillac. It was shiny, candy-apple red, with velvety interior seats that matched the outside.

Sometimes Nessie preferred the leather interior of her father's car because it didn't make the inside of the car so hot... But the velvety seats were so much prettier. And that was all that really mattered to a little girl when it came to comfort.

The car was stuffy inside while Nessie waited for her air supply to return. So helpless she felt for that short span of seconds where her grandmother would walk around the car to get to the driver's seat. But once the front door was opened and Esme was buckled into _her _set, everything was safe again.

The sound of the car starting never failed to coax a squeal of excitement from Nessie. It was such a thrill not knowing where they might be off to today.

The car would move backwards suddenly, and the bright blinding light of the outside world streamed into the windows, washing away all stains of gray left behind by the garage. It was a different habitat out here **–** that slow reverse path, out of garage and into driveway was like a magical gateway between alternate dimensions. Dark to bright. Dirty to shiny. Cramp to cavernous.

Only the most acute of imaginations could deem such a simple thing "magical."

They drove for a while with nothing but woods on either side, but no matter how similar the pattern of trees looked, Nessie was able to memorize them all. And finally, when they emerged from the forest, they ventured down the residential streets of all too familiar houses. There was the big white brick house with the pretty bird bath out front. Then the small house with the dark brown roof and the porch in front. Then the house on the corner with the big purple tree by the mailbox and the barking puppy.

The roads are a wild place to a child observing from the back seat of a moving van. Children really never understood the rules out here. How long did they go on, thinking cars just drove through whichever lanes they pleased? How long did they fail to realize that there were sometimes four lanes in a row instead of only two? How long did they watch through their shady windows, never appreciating the delicate art to starting and stopping; the complexities of the dreaded intersection; the contrast between the yellow and white lines on a charcoal black road?

The car ride was a fascinating experience, indeed.

The skinny black telephone wires were snaking over clear blue sky, repeating interweaving patterns over and over and over, as they drove on and on and on. Trees passed by in big green and yellow blurs. The car swerved and turned, and its occupants got tossed around with it, submissive to the superiority of the vehicle's momentum.

If the Cadillac needed to be cleaned, they would stop at the car wash. Nessie had mixed feelings about the car wash.

On the one hand, it was a devious detour from their usual mundane drive – it was always a surprise to pull up and suddenly find the car face to face with the gaping tunnel of soapy, scrubbing robots. But on the other hand, it was somewhat intimidating... and even a little bit scary.

Inside awaited the wild unpredictability of a mechanical bath time. The strong chemical aromas made Nessie's nose crinkle in displeasure – it was hard to believe the car would emerge clean on the other side. Once the light turned green and the doors closed behind them, it was a chaotic rumble and tumble of squirts and brushes and beating strips of sudsy fabric. The windows were smeared with thick white foam, blocking from view everything that stirred outside.

But inside the car, it was safe. No matter how fantastic her imagination became, Nessie knew no harm could come to her as long as the windows were sealed and someone was always with her.

Before she knew it, a mighty rinse would wash the windshield clean and clear, and a giant gray vacuum would yawn above the roof of the car, chasing the remaining droplets away with the unsettling pressure of its monotonous song.

And no matter how nervous she'd been before they entered the wash, Nessie was almost disappointed when it all came to an end.

They resumed their drive on the street with the rest of the cars, only now they stood out in their clean, glossy, cherry-colored Cadillac.

Nessie sometimes watched other cars, in an instinctive search for other children who shared the common back seat, and she wondered if they were going someplace special. Nessie always made it a point to read every sign the car passed, and sometimes she did it out loud. Her exceptional intelligence was not often something that they spoke of out loud, but Esme couldn't help the pride she felt in hearing any bit of knowledge her granddaughter felt worthy to offer.

The next stop was the bakery. Esme unbuckled her happy prisoner from the back seat, for a child can only take so much time without stretching her legs.

With every four perfect steps she took, one awkward step followed.

The door jingled when they opened it, and the sound reminded Nessie of Christmas. Many of the smells in the bakery reminded her of Christmas, too.

Nessie asked to be lifted up so she could see the cakes and pastries, gleaming in colorful rows beneath their glass case. She wanted to try a little bit of everything.

Esme bought a box of doughnuts, and she let Nessie pick one for herself.

Pink frosting and sprinkles. Her predictability was adorable.

_"We'll save it for later," _Esme told her. Nessie wondered why her family always used the word "we" when nobody else ever ate.

The car started up yet again, as did the familiar antics of the back seat. Nessie swung her legs back and forth over the edge of the car seat, and sometimes she traced the little purple dragonflies on the cushion. With every other unexpected jerk of the car, another piece of cereal dropped to the floor. All of the Cheerios were either on the ground or in her tummy by the time they got _there, _wherever _there _happened to be.

Esme pulled into the parking lot, and if it was a tight squeeze, Nessie might warn her that she thought so. Esme thanked the child for her lovingly pretentious alerts, but she made sure the car never got a scratch.

With a turn of the key, the car settled its roaring hum; all the noise stopped. And here they were.

The parking lot.

Ah, didn't parking lots seem to go on forever? All those yellow lines painted everywhere, some were diagonal and some were straight and some were perpendicular, and it seemed frustratingly impossible that people somehow managed to fit their huge cars inside those tiny spaces. The lot looked so neat and organized.

The pavement sparkled here, too.

As was a common peril amongst small children, Nessie had some trouble whilst walking between cars. The world seemed to swallow her up, and she longed to be taller so that she could see how far they had yet to walk.

Esme took Nessie by the hand and never let her go, because parking lots were dangerous places. Nessie knew this, of course, but she accepted the hand holding not because safety was a concern, but because she just _liked _to hold hands with her grandmother.

The pair reached the sidewalk and walked a little further... and Nessie knew exactly where they were.

There is a sudden moment of recognition for children – like Mary Poppins snapping her fingers – and all the magic abruptly drops into place.

"Hospital!" Nessie exclaimed.

"That's right!" Esme commended.

Nessie knew this place like the back of her itty bitty hand. She'd been here so many times, not only to visit her grandfather while he worked, but to see Jacob's friends when they happened to be in the Emergency Room. Those silly boys were always getting hurt.

Guests who sought the door to the ER entrance had to face the challenge posed by a long, winding series of concrete ramps. The railings were painted blue, coated with rust. Nessie had been told by multiple grown-ups never to touch those railings because they were covered in germs.

Nessie liked to test her speed in running the length of those ramps. Because she was so very competitive with herself, she was more than often out of breath by the time she reached the door. It was convenient that the doors opened automatically.

The tight, tender hold of her grandmother's hand was the ticket into the strangest of places. There was never a worry for becoming lost when her fingers were wrapped up in those of someone who loved her.

The inside of the hospital was cold with wide open hallways and doors everywhere she looked. It smelled mandarin oranges and a little bit like the soap they used in the car wash. Shoes squeaked on shiny floors and people dressed in green and blue pajamas rushed to and fro beneath a fluorescent flood. Nessie felt even smaller in here than she did between the cars in the parking lot.

But the further they walked, the quieter it became. The labyrinth looked gradually more familiar and the traffic died down, just like it did on the streets.

Esme left the box of doughnuts on the counter in the nurse's station as she passed on by. No one ever knew who put it there, but true generosity was not something that sighed for attention. She hastily wrapped Nessie's requested pink sprinkle doughnut with a napkin, tucked it into her purse, and closed the lid.

They rounded the corner, steadily slowing as they walked down the offices corridor, toward the very last door on the right.

Nessie had a secret knock, so her grandfather always knew it was her.

Two fast knocks, three slow knocks, and two fast at the end.

It never took more than a second for the door to swing open.

Carlisle looked disconcertingly young when he wore his scrubs. Perhaps there was something in the excess powder blue that enhanced his deceptive blond youth. Of course, Nessie's presence seemed to have this effect on him just as well.

He'd laughed robustly when his granddaughter asked him why he wore pajamas to work.

_"They make you look sleepy,"_ she'd said with a giggle.

Then he explained to her the limited dress code of the hospital work staff, and she understood.

_"Well, you still look sleepy," _she murmured with a hint of warning as her finger traced the hint of violet shade beneath his eye. She was smart with their secrets, careful to remind them when she thought they may benefit from a hunt or when they should take the day off.

Yet it mattered not how dark the circles beneath Carlisle's eyes had gotten – they were as bright as they could be when Nessie came to visit him.

Carlisle let the tiny brunette sit with him behind his desk for a while as he worked. For a while, Nessie would watch him contentedly as he wrote and typed and filed. But she never let more than a few minutes tick by on the clock before she politely requested a new source of mesmerization.

He gave her a highlighter to color with, and she lovingly decorated his boring white documents with her creative designs. The yellow of a highlighter was such an incredible color – it was outrageous, electric, brighter than lemons – so vivid that it made the white paper look lavender when she stared at it for too long.

Nessie drew complicated pictures on those lesser important papers... The skyline of Seattle; the silhouettes of pine trees and cacti; the solar system, all labeled and ordered neatly in the margins. If anyone else were to see her drawings, they may have guessed the work belonged to an aspiring street artist. She was better than she realized – enough that her talent posed a danger should she be caught doodling by another child of her age. She was never really satisfied with her finished drawings, but her grandparents both insisted that this was the best one yet. They said that every time, and every time, she beamed when they said it.

Nessie had no idea that her grandfather had kept a separate file for every one of her doodled documents in his bottom drawer.

When the brightness of the highlighter began to make her dizzy, Nessie set the marker down and confessed that all of her drawing had fueled her appetite.

So Esme unwrapped the pink frosted doughnut from its napkin and laid it down on the desk for Nessie to eat. The child's attempts to count the number of rainbow sprinkles were rarely resolved before her resistance wore out, and she took the first bite. She never finished the entire doughnut, but she learned to always make the most of whatever was left over by feeding the rest to the birds.

They opened the window so that she could toss the crumbs away.

Working, for Carlisle, was not the most favorable activity to immerse himself in while under the grace of his granddaughter's presence. They often sat behind the computer together and experimented with different games. Online games were soon omitted from the agenda; Renesmee would have topped the high scores list on every website – not very helpful in alleviating suspicions that could otherwise be avoided.

She was brilliant at minesweeper.

Carlisle watched her tiny fingers like a chemist might watch his crucible. Every click, every delicate reflex, every swivel of her wrist was precious to him. The warmth of her nearness was intoxicating, almost crippling, and he was helpless to press discreet kisses on the top of her head so as to not disrupt her concentration.

He watched the way her beautiful, bulging brown eyes blinked and flickered across the screen. Her eyes were so filled with intelligence, yet they still possessed that glistening wonder of a child who had yet to witness the world in all its subtleties. She was a strange and amazing breed, their Renesmee.

So clever, yet so curious. So precocious, yet so playful. So aware, yet so awestruck.

She was so close to perfection, as many children tend to be in the eyes of those who love them. Yet there was a blink of humble humanity in her every action that only served to make her twice as enchanting.

_One part awkward; four parts perfect_, as his wife liked to fondly say.

Her weight on his legs was so natural and so welcome that the second she finally slipped from his lap, he was left feeling empty and immobile. She scampered about the office for a while, accurately observing everything that had changed since her last visit. The cheery chime of her sweet voice as she commented on every new object made the room seem so much more interesting.

And it seemed, in the wake of Carlisle's attentive stare, that his wife's face became just as youthful as their granddaughter's – for just a brief moment, he saw it, when Esme caught sight of Nessie's smile. The gesture was reciprocated by anyone who happened to see it, but on Esme it glowed with twice the strength. The opaqueness that set in the gold of her eyes, the blistering fondness that yielded her lopsided smile, the irresistible inflections of love that dimpled her cheeks – it was staggering.

The humble grandeur of having Nessie in the room was something of an unspoken thrill. Having her here, all to themselves, for however short a time was a blessing. Even as she skated simply through her quest for wisdom every day, Nessie would never truly come to realize how precious a gift she was to them.

When it was time for Carlisle to return to the workday (Nessie was the one to remind them), she wrapped her arms around his neck and planted the tiniest of kisses he had ever received on his chin. Despite the strength of his willpower, Carlisle found it the cruelest of challenges to let her leave with his wife.

If he'd had his way he would have taken her into the OR with him while he reassembled internal organs.

They murmured their mutual _I love you_'s and other pointless reminders that were never heard quite as clearly, having been unfortunate enough to follow the faithful prose.

Esme spared her husband a telling glance before disappearing behind the door with Nessie toddling after. In that glance, she seemed to silently ask, _"Doesn't it astound you, how lucky we are?" _

Nessie had the last smile.

And the door closed with a click.

Now, to any outside observer, it may have been just a mundane morning like any other. The events which transpired in the simple doctor's office during a fifteen minute lunch break that was never spent eating lunch might, to any third party, seem dull at best. But to Doctor Cullen it was never _just like any other day. _Not when his granddaughter filled those fifteen pieces of void with her sparkling laughter and surprising remarks and incomprehensibly tiny kisses.

With a sigh, he would return to the duties of the day, smiling absently when he noticed the fingerprints she'd kindly left for him to find on the surface of his desk.

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_**A/N**__: Thank you for reading and reviewing - it really inspires me! __If you like Carlisle and Esme, I am currently writing my version of their love story – it is called __**Stained Glass Soul**__, and can be found on my profile. _

_Please review!_


	3. Heaven in a Box

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Chapter 3:

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Heaven in a Box

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Though they would forever be a close-knit family in their hearts, the innocent intrusion of Renesmee into the Cullens' lives made it imperative that they separate at some point to retain their secrets. It was out of bittersweet necessity that the couples finally parted and addressed themselves to separate dwellings. Slowly and reluctantly, they found homes as nearby to the next as possible without raising suspicions.

An understood pattern emerged where Nessie was passed from house to house, dividing her precious time equally amongst her family members who longed to see her just as much as she longed to visit them. If there was ever a child loved too recklessly by too many caregivers, Nessie was a frontrunner among all of the most eligible candidates.

Bella and Edward grew less hesitant to hand their daughter away from time to time. Being as passionate a couple as they were, of course, it was understandable that they should desire time alone. During those times, Nessie was more than content to spend a day or two in her grandparents' home.

They were embarassingly ridiculous when it was just the three of them... Carlisle, Esme, and little Nessie.

Thankfully, Edward kept their overheard secrets, but sometimes Nessie spilled the memories to her mother. At first, Bella thought the images were simple refuse from her daugther's imagination, but once she'd learned they were the truth, she'd laughed for ages over their antics. Why, the lengths Doctor Cullen and his refined wife went to entertain her daughter were really quite impressive.

But there was a story behind their preposteriously playful behavior... and it had all started because of the house.

Carlisle and Esme were very meticulous about purchasing their new home. It was, surprisingly, _not_ disappointing that their residence no longer needed such excessive accomodations. To ease suspicions, they had settled inside a three bedroom cookie cutter in a neighborhood full of politely disinterested people, many of whom were already using wheelchairs as their regular mode of transportation.

Elderly couples never intruded upon the lives of the youthful ones. All they knew was that Doctor Cullen and his wife were very comfortable in their "starter home."

The house itself was a wonderfully strange place to Carlisle and Esme. They'd become so accostomed to the extensive perimiters offered by the largest of homes, that being forced to limit their footsteps in a considerably more cramp space was an entertaining challenge.

The interior was catered to convenience: bedrooms upstairs, living and dining on the ground floor, and laundry in the basement. Out of boredom, Esme went ahead and had the basement finished. Stiff berber carpets covered the floor and white plaster covered the walls. The aroma of wet paint seemed to permeate the entire household. It was the smell of newness, of that slightly frustrating point where everyone must begin again - a fresh start... and a mild headache that went along with it.

The house had been completely vacant when they'd first viewed it together, each imagining the empty rooms filling with bits and bobs of their former selves in the backs of their minds. It would look so wonderful when they'd finally dressed it up. They talked about it every night as they sat like daydreaming children on the floors of those empty rooms and let their eyes wander, speculating about what would go where.

The treasured relics from their rich past were kept hidden in either the attic or the storage closet in the basement. To any visitor, the house would have been believable as the couple's first.

Esme had been especially smitten with the idea of redecorating an entire house from scratch. Carlisle teased her with a kiss to her nose and asked her if she'd always wanted a life-size doll house to play in.

Of course she did.

Every room of this house was naked and white. White walls, white carpets, white blinds on the windows. It was like someone had taken a giant eraser and swiped the color and clutter clean.

It was a little bit like heaven in a box.

Slowly, they began to fill the house with furniture again, starting with the kitchen cabinets. Esme was indecently enchanted by the numerous shades of wood the catalogues offered. Teak, pine, oak, hickory, maple. A rainbow of splinterless samples lay scattered about the kitchen counter for weeks before she had finally made her decision.

The living room was decorated in identical shades of wood, but the white remained. Esme wanted to keep the white carpets and white walls; they reminded her of the purity of youth. Nessie could feel at home here.

Esme and Carlisle anxiously awaited the day when their granddaughter would be dropped on their doorstep, swept inside before the wind could whip her precious cheeks, and hastily waved goodbyes to her parents as they rushed back to the car in the light snow of early winter.

Everything outside was barren. Trees were just sad gray arrangements of sticks balanced against each other, brittle and snapping apart with the slightest gust of wind. There was a bare blanket of snow on the grass - and it was unsatisfactory, being too thin to play in, but too thick to ignore.

This was perhaps the most dismal part of the season, but with Nessie around, the icy white interior of their brand new house was warmed. White was like clouds, not snow. Nessie noticed the excessive white right away... and she loved it.

Not to detract from the decorators' credit, but Nessie was rather easy to please.

The things she could do in a place like this! A place so empty and white and open.

She did somersaults on the carpet, rolling across the living room from one wall to the other, with no sofas to get in her way. Carlisle had not yet ordered them.

She jumped up and down on the queen-sized mattress in the guest room that would one day belong to her. She reached for the stratus clouds of a white ceiling overhead, and came down again, her hands in constant disagreement with the springs.

She crawled around on the kitchen floor, her knees and elbows safe from dust as they slid over the spotless pastel linoleum.

This house was so untouched, so unlived in. So perfect.

And in the midst of a white lawn and snow sprinkled trees, the inside of the house was even purer in its color... or lack thereof.

Nessie kept a small red suitcase full of her belongings in the empty guest room. She'd brought with her a toothbrush, two new outfits, a pair of pajamas and her mother's nostalgic patchwork blanket.

She was very careful with that blanket. No one had ever told her to be careful with it, of course. She just knew.

But children have a tendency to grow dangerously attached to special items, particularly those ones soft enough to hold throughout the day, and those which can be easily carried from room to room. Carlisle and Esme had taken the liberty of buying an entire zoo full of stuffed animals for Nessie to play with, in the hopes that she would find one to her liking enough to call her favorite. Would she carry the zebra around the house every day? Or would she pick the giraffe? Maybe she would like the lion the best...

They introduced her to each animal in turn, fabricating creative little histories for each, wondering if the next would tickle her fancy. But she had smiled, patted each animal on its fuzzy head, and strolled away, searching for her mother's T-shirt blanket.

One day they would all have to learn to accept that Nessie was not a glutton for material things.

She wrapped her little body in the blanket and struggled to walk around in it. Sometimes she would stumble, but somehow she managed to look graceful with every trip.

Esme told her it might be best if she left the blanket in her room while she ate, but Nessie had predictably refused.

"I'm too cold without it," she confessed with a shiver, and pulled the edges of the blanket tighter around her.

Carlisle rushed to the thermostat, poking its passive face with his finger, a look of disappointment in his gentle eyes.

Keeping the temperature of their house in a pleasant homeostasis fit to their granddaughter's standards was a full time job. But they loved it.

By the somewhat late hour of dinnertime, the house had warmed considerably; the steady temperature of seventy-five degrees would have had any other human fanning herself from the heat. But Nessie continued waddling about, a miniature patchwork mummy with copper curls. She had fashioned a hood out of the blanket to tuck around her head so that only her flush little face was showing. She playfully peeked around the corners of the kitchen as her grandparents struggled to decide on dinner. Her coy games were not particularly helpful, except in distracting them.

Finding the minimal contents of the refrigerator unsatisfactory, Carlisle offered to drive to the grocery store and return in fifteen minutes with the missing sections of the food pyramid. A doctor just couldn't bear the thought of his granddaughter eating anything less than nutritious.

He made his way to the foyer closet, donned his coat, and tossed a scarf around his neck. But before his hand could touch the knob, baby in a blanket put a stop to him.

"Don't go!" she cried, tugging the end of his scarf with her mitted hands.

Because who really wants to watch someone they love leave when it was just so cold and dark outside?

"He's just going to bring your dinner home for you, Ness," Esme tried to comfort the child with a squeeze of her shoulder.

But Nessie was determined that no one leave this lovely white box. Carlisle saw her sweet determination and gave in to her charms, stooping down to face her worried brown eyes with a reassuring smile and a flattered heart.

She reached up contentedly to touch his cheek, showing him that delivered take-out would suffice for supper.

He laughed and stuffed his coat back into the closet.

Perhaps they could learn to appreciate Nessie's simple tastes.

Esme promptly flurried about the kitchen, digging up any take-out menus they happened to keep on hand, which were few. Nessie leafed through the ads with a critical eye until a brightly colored print photo of a large cheese pizza caught her attention. She showed the picture to her indulgent audience with a sweet smile and slightly pleading eyes.

Forty-four and half minutes later, the delivery man was ringing the doorbell.

Nessie opened the door, demanding to know in her hilariously kind and approachable little voice, just _what had taken him so long_?

Brushing fresh snow off his shoulders, the man apologized to the little girl, but the sudden shift in weather tonight had made the roads a dangerous place.

After the pizza was paid for, and the snow-covered delivery man was sent away with a generous tip, Nessie gave her grandfather a knowing look.

__

You see what would have happened to you if you'd gone out there?

Carlisle was still sometimes in awe over how aware she was.

She was especially aware that the pizza she had asked for was much larger than she'd anticipated it to be from the looks of the picture on the menu.

One slice was quite enough for a girl with such a little stomach, and there were eleven more perfectly edible cheese pizza slices left in the box.

"What will we do with the rest of it? We don't want to waste it," Nessie mourned over the uneaten pieces of her pizza pie.

"I'll wrap the rest up and leave it in the refrigerator," Esme told her, "You can eat some tomorrow."

Nessie was smart enough to know she wouldn't be eating those eleven leftover slices herself, even if she were to go the entire night and all the next morning without a bite.

She sighed and let her grandmother put the food away.

Having finished her dinner, Nessie was given the choice for dessert. Chocolate pudding or an ice cream sandwich?

Still shivering under her blanket, she stood up to the open freezer and chose a grape juice box.

"Grape juice for dessert?" Her grandmother was skeptical.

"It's healthy," she replied with a shrug.

Esme sent her husband a pursed look of amusement, and he tried to hide his guilt. For all of his doctor-talk, Nessie still managed to put Carlisle to shame. And he was going to let her eat that artifically flavored cup full of sugar...

Nessie inserted the purple straw and was on her way. And Carlisle and Esme followed her with their eyes for a while, wondering which way she would wander next.

She paused to peek down the basement stairwell, her mouth slightly agape. Who knew heaven had a cellar?

It was white down there too, she could see from the tippy top of those carpeted stairs. She wasn't afraid to explore it.

Standing on the tips of her toes, she reached up and flicked on the light.

Her eyes blinked a tender warning to the vigilant pair behind her, and she pushed the door open wider, taking the first step into deep white mystery.

They waited until they heard her bare feet meet the bottom step, and then they followed after her.

The room that awaited at the end of those stairs was unassumingly impressive - somehow it managed to be both cramp and vast at once - a white field of slightly bumpy berber carpeting, and windowless white walls to enclose it all in safety. Two soft golden floodlights spilled modestly divine rays over the empty floor.

Well, mostly empty.

In each corner of the room, there was a box. Four corners meant four boxes in all. The boxes were made of colored plastic - one green, one red, one blue, one yellow. Each one promised another mystery of its own, and Nessie couldn't resist.

She scampered over to the yellow one first, tearing the lid off with a mighty tug of her little arms and gasping when she saw the contents.

This first box was filled to the brim with storybooks. Each was brightly bound with colorful and complicated illustrations on its cover. Some were thick while others were thin. Some were solid and shiny and some were thin and papery. She wanted to read them all.

But wait, there were three more mystery boxes yet to be opened.

The red was next, followed shortly by the blue, and finally the green.

Plastic play foods, sparkly baubles from last year's Mardi Gras, and a ridiculous load of legos.

She read a book first, cooked each of her grandparents an appetizing plastic meal, decorated herself in fine beaded necklaces, and finally settled down to play with the legos.

It was slightly astonishing to Carlisle and Esme that such an intelligent child who had seen so much could still find enchantment in a simple basement with four toy-filled boxes.

She was _still _just a child.

And it exhilarated them to see her so carefree and joyful for the plastic and the pages and the clean white carpets.

In her excitement, Nessie had placed far too many necklaces around her neck - they were practically weighing the poor child down with every step she took. Esme asked if she could wear a few, and Nessie kindly obliged. It was the only way to save her from drowning in beads.

She eventually settled in the southwest corner of the room, contentedly creating tiny worlds with the plastic building blocks. With a little help from the grown-ups, she had a three-story castle, a village, an airport and a fire station all set neatly in a circle by midnight.

"You look sleepy, sweetheart." The sound of her grandfather's voice caused her eyelids to wilt, but Nessie grudgingly widened them in protest.

"Not yet..." There was still so much to do.

She left her blanket on the floor - just for a second - just so she could see what she had missed from the last box she'd opened...

It wasn't her fault that those juice boxes were so cheaply made.

She gave the daintiest of gasps as the single droplet of purple appeared on the corner of her mother's precious blanket.

There is perhaps nothing more disheartening in the world than watching a child's slow preparation to cry. Their face first falls as though all of the light has been pulled out of it, abruptly enough to leave them shocked into disbelieving silence. Their eyes begin to twinkle with unshed tears, and their lips melt ever so slightly into a delicate, trembling pout.

Then there is the challenge for those onlookers - a test of how deep their care might go for the one who is about to cry.

They were called upon by instinct to put a stop to those fast brewing tears before they could escape.

Esme quickly reached down and swept the blanket up like a hero brandishing her cape, humming her way gracefully towards the laundry room. Carlisle carefully slipped his arms around Nessie and, just as simply, lifted her from the carpet to follow.

The flimsy folding closet doors that separated the laundry from the rest of the basement seemed to part on their own. Nessie was still teetering on the very fragile precipice of being distraught, but the events that were unfolding with smoothest haste before her eyes kept her distracted for just long enough...

"Don't you worry now, darling," Esme's smile was like warm red sunshine as she bent to unlock the washer door. "It will be as good as new when it comes out."

Nessie's eyes followed the motions of her grandmother's hands with wonder as her blanket was tucked away in an unfamiliar portal and imprisoned with the hollow click of the door.

Esme dropped in a dollop of blue liquid, pressed a few magic buttons, and the washer rumbled to life.

Unable to tame her restless squirming, Carlisle reluctantly set Nessie down on the cheap linoleum and let her slide on her knees up to the churning machine.

At first she refused to leave, choosing instead to set up camp in front of that small circular window and watch the wild tumble of her blanket inside. She looked on for a while, an attentive little chaperone to the work of the diligent appliance. Esme could have sworn that washing machine worked twice as hard with Nessie's eyes staring it down.

They tried to coax her away in any way they knew how.

"It's well past midnight now, Nessie. Come upstairs and we'll read a bedtime story."

"You must be so tired, angel. Don't you want to sleep?"

But she responded in the same melancholy manner. "I don't want to sleep without mumma's blanket."

Bravely, she pressed her curious fingers up against the door of the washing machine and sighed.

She wasn't going to leave. And if Nessie was going to stay here on the laundry room floor for the rest of the night, then Carlisle and Esme were staying here, too.

Esme settled behind her granddaughter and gently twirled her hair around her fingers for a while, in a mystical way that usually encouraged sleep. But Nessie was intent upon the chugging drone of the wash as it tossed her blanket mercilessly in its belly.

This just wouldn't do.

Esme took a fleeting glimpse of her husband's equally saddened gaze, and in a tentative moment of mischievous inspiration, she reached for the full basket of freshly laundered clothing on the dryer.

"You know what we should do while we're waiting, Ness?"

Furrowed brown eyes blinked their disillusion. "What...?"

Without further explanation, Esme tipped the basket over onto the floor, blindly selected a white terrycloth bath towel and draped it decidedly over her husband's left shoulder.

Carlisle narrowed his eyes in affectionate confusion, brilliantly bemused by the unprecedented gesture. But Nessie caught on much quicker.

Her little hands were soon flying through the pile of clothes that kept growing on the floor between them. She tossed the shirts and skirts over his shoulders, fitted socks over his hands like mittens, crowned his head with empty pillowcases, and loosely tied a pair of panty-hose around his neck.

She would not stop laughing, and with every new item she added her laughter grew more deliciously boisterous, until her amusement had flowered upon her cheeks in the form of a rich pink flush.

Esme sat back the entire time, laughing just as beautifully, encouraging it all. Spurred by the inspiring giggles behind her, Nessie became carried away, adding every last piece of clothing until her grandfather was finally covered from head to foot.

She didn't notice that beneath the colorful pile of conflicting textures, he was shaking with laughter that was just as enthusiastic, but infinitely more quiet. After all, he didn't want to disrupt her creative genius.

Dcotor Cullen was quite a work of art when she'd finished with him.

A lopsided turban of terrycloth over a sheer cashmere sweater to cover his face, a single khaki trouser leg around his arm, a sock on each hand, and floppy plaid wings on his shoulders.

Nessie did not neglect to name her work of art.

"Look, it's the laundry monster!"

Carlisle could take a hint.

After the submissive five minutes of stillness while she worked, his sudden movement pleasantly startled her. Nessie's giggling echoed magnificently as he grasped her in his fabric coated embrace with a soft growl, the separate pieces of clothing slowly shedding as he tickled her.

The static teased his hair into a mess of floating pale blond strands as she happily slipped the blankets and shirts from over his head to unveil his face. Her laughter was continuous, though it peaked upon seeing how disheveled her unwrapping had made him.

Esme tried, but failed to stifle a laugh at the sight.

To think that without Nessie, they would never be here, doing such wonderfully silly things on the laundry room floor. Esme would have never have found her husband, back pressed against the washing machine, blond hair tousled in disarming disarray, with his lips locked in a smile and his eyes sprinkled with sunlight.

It would have been an awfully different house without Renesmee, she thought.

No matter how white its walls were, this house could never match the brightness of a child's innocent laughter.

That laughter was truly all they needed to furnish it. The house felt anything but empty now.

The patient bleep of the washing machine sounded, notifying the three occupants that it had finished its load. But they were too distracted to care.

Nessie's laughter, as contagious as it was, eventually wore her out. Helpless to conquer the natural drain of energy, she found herself snuggled up to her partially costumed laundry monster, eyes too heavy to blink and cheeks too achy to continue grinning. But even as she surrendered herself to sleep, there was still a faint shadow of a smile on her winsome pink lips...

As was their silent promise, Carlisle and Esme remained there, on the laundry room floor for as long as Renesmee did - until the unheralded arrival of dawn.

* * *

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**A/N: **In case anyone was wondering, the all-white house is from my own childhood. The first house I remember living in was completely white and basically unfurnished for a good year before my parents finally bought stuff to fill it up. But I'd always kind of missed the days when it was just an empty white house. Pretty much all of the things Nessie did in this chapter were things I did as a three-year-old.

If you have any childhood stories of your own, I'd love to hear them. Please review. :)

**__******


	4. A Star in Her Pocket

**Chapter 4:**

**A Star in Her Pocket**

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There were days when the hospital made his stomach clench. Days when the scent of bright, sweet blood and the harsh citrus blast of antiseptics rummaged through his head, shouting _"No more. Please, no more. I cannot do this anymore…"_

The white coats and the compassion and the suffering… It was sometimes too much for Carlisle. Even after all these years.

The hospital clung to him, like a desperate child, while he walked through the rain and collapsed into the cold leather safety of his car.

There were fifteen-minute frames of time where he would stay here, in his car, with the rain pounding down against the roof and crying all down the windows.

He savored those fifteen minutes in silence, letting the tingling sadness wash over him until it receded. There should be as little residue of this sadness as possible for when he returned home.

But every time he opened the garage and walked through the door and saw his wife's face, it all came spilling back.

He did not need to tell her. Esme knew from one look in his eyes; sometimes she knew from just the sound of his footsteps. And in rarer times, she knew before he even came home.

It was almost like they were connected through their hearts. When one ached, it sent the strains of that ache to the other, like telephone wires – or like a soft thumping Morse code sent over a far distance.

Esme heard her husband's S.O.S. before he reached the door.

She took from his hands whatever he carried: the house keys, the still-full Styrofoam cup of cold coffee, the dry black umbrella he hadn't cared to use.

She laid them on the table and gently smothered his lips with her own. Her fingers collected the diamonds of raindrops that hid in his hair, and he surrendered to her, listlessly accepting her love as it laved him.

"You'll be happy, won't you?" she whispered, slightly pleading, but more reassuring. "For her?"

Esme's hand slid warmly down the slope of his jaw, and he nodded slowly to prolong her touch.

He was always happy for Renesmee. She infected him more potently than anything at the hospital ever could.

Esme smiled – that knee-weakening, slightly lopsided smile he longed to lock inside a treasure chest and bury in the sands of his heart. Her eyes were glistening because his were, and he loved her for this. For being so gentle and strong, right when he needed it the most.

There were days like this one, sometimes, that began with heartache. But these days often ended in wonder.

Esme held Carlisle's hand for ten steps across the carpet. It was just these first few steps she felt he needed help… and then she let him go to walk on his own.

He found his granddaughter where she was perched on the landing of the stairs, and he bent over to kiss her cheek. The moment his lips brushed her skin, his mind was filled with understanding and precociously pleasant pictures of birds flying through clouds and stars over the sunset.

It was like Nessie had overheard his heart.

From the bottom of the stairs, Esme shared a secret glance with her granddaughter, and Nessie took Carlisle's hand. She led him up the rest of the steps – for the first ten or so, then he would be all right on his own.

Nessie made him smile, with her struggle in what to wear to bed, and her bubblegum toothpaste, and her random confession that she would like to take ballet lessons one day when she was older.

Esme lingered in the doorway with watchful eyes as Carlisle grew accustomed to the process of putting a child to bed. The water splashed and the reflections in the mirror laughed, and Nessie covered his hands in pear-scented lather.

He was so beautiful like this. Still in his seafoam-colored scrubs, blond hair still tousled from the rain, fingers still trembling slightly from the deaths he had watched that day.

He was so lucky to come home to a child's loving smile that evening. So lucky. And he knew it.

Eventually they made their way from the bathroom to Nessie's bedroom. It took an incredibly long time. But Carlisle was able to walk those ten steps without holding a smaller hand. He still stayed so close to her, though.

Esme watched from the opposite end of the bed as her husband read their granddaughter some story about animals who could talk, and people who didn't notice, and morals that would have gone straight over any other three-year-old's tiny head. But Nessie knew what this story was really about.

She rejoiced all the same in the voices he made, in the way he attempted to raise his natural pitch for the baby bunny, and deepen his tenor for the villainous fox.

He was too indulgent.

Shame on him.

But Esme was just as terrible.

She'd told her granddaughter herself that she would not allow her to sleep in this room until they had pasted the entire universe on the walls and ceiling. Luckily, just thirty dollars at the dollar store could purchase this sort of thing. One could buy anything in America these days.

With graceful arms, she'd lifted her baby girl up, and Nessie decorated the empty white sky with the lovely pieces of glow-in-the-dark plastic. Stars and planets and moons and hearts... even though hearts did not really belong in the night sky.

Then again, love was everywhere.

This feeling Esme felt was not unfamiliar, but never had she felt it in this way before. This feeling of being part of a family.

There was something more human about it tonight than any other night. The low hum of Nessie's sweet blood covered by the lilac and fresh pear scents of her pale pink and lavender sheets. The soothing drone of her husband's familiar voice, supporting that of his granddaughter when she interrupted with an adorably curious question every page or so. The general fondness that enveloped the pair as they turned the pages under a canopy of glowing plastic stars.

Esme twisted the flowery, fairy-colored bedspread between her fingers while she watched them, in joyful anxiety, in hope that they could continue to live this way for as long as fate allowed them.

She thought back to the times when Carlisle would carry Renesmee around as a baby – those days when he was left alone with her, so troubled by every whimper she might utter. Those days when he tried to soothe her into sleep, pacing the living room carpets with her draped over his shoulder, the tender strains of Tony Bennett singing "The Way You Look Tonight" over the old stereo.

Somehow, being so new to the process of putting a baby to sleep, he had succeeded. Somehow he had managed to get her eyes to close and her breaths to even out. She'd looked so tiny on his shoulder.

Esme remembered the times when Carlisle would lift Nessie up to the stained glass windows in their church; whispering the name of a color in her ear, and she would point to the painted chip of glowing glass that matched it. He'd kissed her every time... even if she had purposefully guessed wrong, just to test him.

There were many little experiences such as these that brought a grandfather closer to his granddaughter. Carlisle and Esme were blessed that Nessie would remember every one of them with as much clarity and as much fondness as they did, themselves.

Esme wondered if, one day, Nessie would look back on this particular moment with the same tender significance she saw in it now.

Would she recall the glitter of the fairytale pages, the confinement of the bed sheets, the clouds of pear-scented perfume, the pastel purple and pink and the occasional splash of unconditional love?

With a tiny, perfect hand poised around her chin, Nessie leaned close to the ear of her narrator and whispered a new proposition.

"Can we build a nest?"

Carlisle chuckled. He never had to reply with a 'yes' or a 'no.' Nessie was quite familiar with the extensive array of his different laughs and what they meant.

It was a yes.

They kicked at the covers until they had scooted them all the way to the very edge of the bed. Nessie stood in the middle of the empty mattress, her little feet trampling pink fabric daisies as she toddled from one end to the other, organizing her pillows just so.

She accepted the occasional helping hand with grace, although her independent efficiency was quite sound without it.

She worked diligently until she had fashioned a kind of Stonehenge out of her pillows... A step back to survey the progress, then the missing parts turned Stonehenge into a cozy colosseum. She stepped over the circular stack into the hollow center and nestled herself inside.

The crack-crack-crackling sounds she made with her teeth and tongue alerted Carlisle and Esme that they were to play along. A bird was hatching in their midst, and it needed their undivided attention.

"Oh, look, darling! A baby bird… We should watch over her until she hatches, don't you think?"

"Hm yes, she'll need someone to help teach her to fly, won't she?"

The suggestion of flight spurred the crack-crack-crackling to speed up considerably. This was the fastest hatching in the history of all hatching eggs.

"Peep peep."

She had brown eyes and copper hair and arms instead of wings. But she was a perfect little bird.

"I do believe I've never seen such a lovely bird before in my life."

"Neither have I."

Careful not to destroy her new home, Carlisle reached inside and lifted the brown-eyed bird from her nest.

Birds generally did not giggle for all the forest to hear. And their first flight tended to be rather dismal compared to the effortless circles Esme now witnessed before her. But Esme herself had learned to fly with the help of her husband. He had never lifted her so high above his shoulders or made her soar so close to the bedroom ceiling, but he had come close to doing these very things... in a much more metaphorical way.

"Higher! Higher!" Nessie cried.

"You need to flap your wings or else you'll fall to the ground!" Carlisle informed her.

Nessie's arms responded promptly. The giggles were rescued.

Her hands brushed the ceiling full of stars and her eyes sparkled brighter the higher she went. The warm freesia of her flushing face and the punctual scent of bubblegum toothpaste swirled around the room until her wings grew tired from their magical flight.

"I'm going to land, now." Her words were spread thin by stray laughter and breathless gasps of air.

Her arms settled against her sides as she swooped down and made a graceful landing on the edge of her bed.

A mischievous smile tickled her lips as she peeked inside the pocket of her nightgown.

She covered the gesture with a strategic yawn and tumbled back into her nest of pillows.

"I'm going to sleep in my nest tonight."

"You'll be very safe there," Esme consented as she flicked off the lights.

Their pasted plastic universe exploded all around them in the dark.

And inside the pocket of Nessie's nightgown, Esme swore she could see one missing spot glowing brightly beneath the fabric.

A tiny hand covered the stolen star and a sweet voice whispered, "Good night."

The evening farewell was sent back twice, in the soft feminine drawl and in the muted masculine murmur.

The door was closed, but never all the way. A sliver of light was let through from the hall – a single dim beam to fuel the stars for the rest of the night.

"She's always so happy…" The male voice marveled.

"Hmm, that's just how children are, dear," his wife whispered back.

Carlisle kissed Esme, for no reason at all. She didn't seem surprised, though. Her smile was back; suddenly the hallway did not seem so dim.

"She put a star in her pocket," he said.

"I saw," Esme confirmed.

With a wry smile, Carlisle's hand drifted to his own pocket; his hand paused over his heart.

He turned then, and glanced in faintest awe at Nessie's bedroom door.

"I think she put one in mine."

* * *

_**A/N:** To put a star in my pocket, you can leave a review. :)_


	5. All Drains Lead to the Ocean

**Chapter 5:**

**All Drains Lead to the Ocean**

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* * *

**

They let her eat cookies in bed.

It was something Nessie liked to do, given of course, that she was a child, and children often like doing things that are against the norm.

She got crumbs on the sheets, but she didn't care. They could fluff the sheets afterward to make those crumbs flee, and she loved doing that.

She tried to speak while chewing, and her words were sweeter than usual in her struggle – and not because of the chocolate morsels that melted on her tongue.

With her fingers coated in powdered sugar, Nessie graciously reached over and used her grandfather's sleeve as a napkin.

At the distinctly hassled gleam in her husband's eye, Esme burst into laughter.

Nessie was confused, and she pouted a little at having been left out, wondering what was so funny?

They promised to tell her one day when she was older.

Once the clock sang out that it had reached eight o'clock, Nessie knew it was time for her bath. One of her greatest strengths was punctuality. They liked to joke that she would have made employee of the month in any company; she was always on time for everything.

Nessie slipped off the side of her bed to stand before the clock on her nightstand, mesmerized for a moment or two as she waited for the melody to finish.

In the lengthy and decision-laden process of decorating the guest room for her granddaughter, Esme had visited every specialty shop for just the right clock to decorate Nessie's nightstand. Finding none that would suit her granddaughter's original tastes, Esme decided to make her own.

Her art was always better when her inspiration came from people she loved.

The design was ornate – a small sculpture of several winged fairies frolicking around a central rose, where the face of the clock could be found.

The tune it played upon the hour was comparatively simple – Nessie had heard the particular song from a self-playing piano in a candy store one day, and promptly declared the song her favorite. Edward had learned to play the song himself, and Esme had it recorded for the clock she'd made.

It was rather fascinating, the lengths they went through to see that one little's girl's every wish was satisfied.

As the melody trickled into silence, Nessie glanced expectantly at her seemingly lazy grandparents. Didn't they realize it was time for her bath?

At three physical years of age, it was expected for any other child to request aid for such a daunting chore. Nessie was an exception, and could have very well ran a bath for herself. But bath time could be incredibly dull without company.

Esme realized soon enough that Nessie was waiting for her to accompany her to the linen closet as they had done in the past. It was pleasantly surprising to her that despite Nessie's maturity, the girl still wished to carry things out in the familiar way. She expected things to be consistent. As a child, perhaps, she even desired it.

It was sometimes easy to overlook the utter child in Nessie. But every time Esme rediscovered it, she could not be more delighted.

Esme took her granddaughter to the closet and lifted her up so that she could choose her own towel. The choice was one that required much time – every shade of pink and purple terrycloth imaginable resided in that closet – but she finally reached for the bright purple one at the very top.

Her clothes were placed back into her bureau and her nightgown was laid carefully out on her pillow.

She scampered into the bathroom, bearing no shame even after having shed her clothes. The innocence of a child was as baffling as it was precious.

The bathroom itself was not terribly luxurious, but to a small enough child, any bathtub was a satisfying substitute for the sea. Nessie reached up to part the diaphanous shower curtain, unveiling the empty white tub.

She watched the bath fill with her elbows on the edge, curled up inside her towel until the water was deemed deep enough to enter. About halfway full was the perfect time to step inside. Nessie tossed her towel aside and tested the water's temperature with her fingers.

She giggled at the unexpected flight into midair as her grandfather lifted her off the tile.

"Ready?" Carlisle asked her as he let her hover over the edge of the tub. Nessie nodded as he lowered her down, and she giggled more liberally when her feet touched the surface.

Carlisle always laughed when Nessie did.

"Is it warm enough?" he asked.

Placing her palm professionally onto the still surface of the water, she tilted her head in consideration before giving a confirming nod. "Yes." She laughed and happily disrupted the stillness of the water with both hands. "Can you put the bubbles in?"

Carlisle smiled patiently. "Let's wait for the water to get a little higher, okay?"

She agreed, though not without a sigh of reluctance. "Okay."

Upon first entering the water, Nessie found entertainment in the simplest motions of sweeping her hand across the surface or making ripples with her fingers. She was a tiny sea goddess with an entire ocean under her command. She made hurricanes and monsoons and tidal waves, all with her small but talented hands.

But this could only keep her occupied for so long. Esme was observant to Nessie's body language. In a few minutes, she would be expecting something more stimulating to distract her.

"Do you want one of your toys, Nessie?" Esme asked, dragging the plastic purple basket of bath toys out from its hiding place under the sink.

Nessie's head rose up in clear interest, and Esme smiled brightly as she sat down next to the tub and let her rummage through the generous selection.

There was a plastic pink crab with silly eyes that rolled around when it was pushed across the floor. There was a mermaid doll with long rainbow hair and a shimmery blue tail. Then there were four squeaky seahorses that expelled water when filled; they were each a different color – pastel green, orange, yellow, and white. And at the bottom of the basket were empty shampoo bottles and soap dispensers that were no longer useful for anything other than a child's imagination.

Nessie chose the mermaid and the orange seahorse.

Her first order of business was to run her fingers through the mermaid's tangled rainbow locks. Adorably, she became frustrated quite fast. Synthetic doll hair just wasn't very cooperative.

"You know she sings if you press this button on her tummy," Esme pointed out helpfully.

Excited by this new bit of information, Nessie searched and quickly found the magic button.

The rainbow-haired mermaid did indeed sing.

Nessie looked up in wonder at Esme, then at Carlisle.

"Isn't that pretty?" Esme asked, leaning her elbow on the edge of the tub.

Nessie nodded enthusiastically, and after several minutes of repeating the song, everyone was sure to have it stuck in their heads that night.

Carlisle asked Nessie several times for her permission to turn the faucet off. She politely declined every time, saying she wanted the water to reach the very tippy top of the bathtub before he shut it off.

"But it might overflow, sweetheart," he warned with a laugh.

Nessie gazed at him bemusedly, as if this was not much a problem.

"That's all right. I want it to be _really _deep!" she expressed in excitement. It was so hard to refuse her when her eyes sparkled like that.

"But if the faucet keeps running, eventually the entire _bathroom _will be filled with water!" Esme reminded, with a theatrical gesture of her arms.

Nessie was too distracted by her grandmother's gestural enthusiasm to reply with anything other than genuine laughter.

Carlisle attempted to furtively reach for the faucet while she was distracted, but Nessie caught him from the corner of her eye. "Please..." she begged, still giggling, "I want it all the way to the top."

Carlisle exchanged brief glances with his wife, then nodded his consent.

"Very well. But the moment it touches _this_ mark—" he pointed with his finger "—I'm turning it off."

"How about _this _mark?" Nessie suggested reasonably, with a slightly manipulative gleam in her eye. Her finger rested an inch or so higher than the place her grandfather had deemed appropriate.

Unable to glare when he was so easily charmed, Carlisle struggled to suppress a smile. "If you insist, darling."

Nessie knew her triumph was inevitable, but this did not keep her from grinning in secret victory.

They watched the rainbow mermaid as she resumed her exploration of the depths of her shallow ocean. There were no seashells or sand dunes under this water, but there were two little legs and a silver drain plug. Not much for exploring, unfortunately. Nessie requested that they decorate the ocean with a little something extra.

"Bubbles now?"

Carlisle nodded, taking a moment to discreetly turn off the faucet as he rose from the edge of the bathtub. "All right."

Nessie abandoned her toys for the moment as she placed both hands on the edge of the tub, waiting eagerly for her promised bath bubbles.

Carlisle reached over with one arm and opened the bottom door to find the new bottle of bubble bath. It was pink with a sparkly lid and its label bore a picture of a strawberry with wings. While they were at the drugstore together last weekend, Nessie hadn't been able to leave it on the shelf – so naturally, Esme had bought it.

Carlisle opened the lid, and for the two vampires in the room, the entire place already smelled of synthetic strawberries and silent chemicals.

He poured a small amount into the water, and swished it around with his free hand to make the bubbles.

"More?" Nessie pleaded.

"That's enough," he said gently as he closed the cap. "Too much isn't good for your skin."

Says the doctor.

Nessie never pouted at health concerns. Though her body was all but impenetrable to the dangers any other child faced, she was ironically wary about safety for herself as well as those around her.

"Okay..."

Unwilling to let this dampen her spirits, Carlisle reached down with both hands and sloshed the water around enough to make even more bubbles. Nessie squealed in delight, decorating her mermaid's hair with the suds.

"You be the seahorse," she ordered Carlisle as she shoved the orange seahorse toy into his hand.

Esme stifled a loving giggle.

But Carlisle accepted his role with grace. "All right then."

Seating himself on the fuzzy pink bathmat beside his wife, he indulgently rolled up both sleeves of his work shirt and dipped his arm into the water.

Unsurely at first, he navigated the small toy through the bubbles as Nessie did with her mermaid. She had never asked him to play with bath toys before, and Esme was positive it would have been Carlisle's first time in this life humoring her with such an activity. It was rather amusing to watch.

Eventually, Nessie's mermaid came into a bump with Carlisle's seahorse, and Nessie gave a squeak of surprise. "Make him kiss her," she told him in a voice that would brook no refusals.

Carlisle grinned to himself, and nudged the seahorse's nose against the mermaid's cheek. He was even kind enough to create the proper sound effects with his own lips.

Nessie looked up at him and giggled, then her mermaid shyly floated away.

After a few more minutes of playtime had passed, Esme arranged herself gingerly on the edge of the tub and asked her granddaughter's preference of shampoo. As with everything in this house, Nessie had a decision to make. But eventually a child simply grew tired of making choices.

"Which one do you like, Gramma?"

Esme grinned at the affectionate address, and hastily selected the bright green bottle. "I've always been fond of apple, myself."

Nessie fell in love with sour apple.

Always eager that everyone should be pleased, Nessie asked her grandfather if he liked the scent of apples, too.

Carlisle smiled and said of course he did.

His interest, though, lay very little in what scent happened to stir the room. His arms were covered in suds, and half his shirt was soaked, but he leaned complacently against the edge of the bathtub, content as he watched his wife care for their granddaughter.

And there was always something about her in this very setting – something maternal that he found treacherously irresistible. Esme's merry smile and sparkling eyes gave her a certain glow, as her fingers twisted gently in the curls atop Nessie's little head. She was so _happy _to make this one tiny effort – so _elated _to do this one chore... because it brought them closer.

Fairly sure he had been forgotten for the moment, he let his head rest against the wall, and abandoned Nessie's seahorse in the water. He had gathered quite enough participation points for the evening, and now was the time to simply revel in the scene.

Though her hair had come undone from its neat knot behind her neck, and though she wore nothing but a pair of white cloth shorts and a sleeveless pink shirt with water drops all across the front, Carlisle thought Esme could not have looked more stunning.

Carlisle had a weakness for the sight of his wife's bare legs. Her slender calves were tucked against the side of the tub where she had so gracefully perched herself, and every so often, one of her feet would twitch happily as if keeping rhythm with a soundless song.

Esme giggled at something Nessie had said, and the sound of their joined laughter stirred inside him. He half expected Esme to glance over at him, as they usually did when Nessie's laughter filled their hearts. But tonight she had apparently missed this crucial smidgen of attention...

Carlisle accepted the absence of this shared glimpse with a gentle pang in his heart. It was fine that she found their Nessie distracting... it was fine. He continued to stare at his wife nevertheless, waiting for the moment anyway. Just in case she decided to meet his eyes, he would be ready.

Esme warned Nessie before rinsing her hair with a pitcher full of warm water. As the water flushed over her happy little face, the child laughed once more.

And Esme looked up with wonder to meet her husband's waiting gaze.

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_**A/N:**__ Ah, bathtime. One of the great childhood memories. Was anyone else forced to share a bath with a sister? I know I was. :) No matter how petite we both are, there just didn't seem enough room for the both of us!_

_The clock Esme made for Nessie is a real item that I had as a child. I still have it, and though it no longer works, I refuse to throw it away. Anyone else have stuff from their childhood that just won't disappear? Tell me stories. I love them. :)_

_And if you're reading along with my story __Stained Glass Soul,__ you may have caught the "powdered sugar" reference at the beginning. If you're not reading __Stained Glass Soul__, then you should take a look at it so you can join in on the private joke. ;)_


	6. Stick to Your Heart

**Chapter 6:**

**Stick to Your Heart**

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Anyone who opened the Forks General Hospital directory noticed the twelfth page. Even if they were not looking for it specifically – and many of them were – they noticed it. On page number twelve were pictured the doctors whose surnames began with 'C'.

Page twelve was torn and tattered on the very edges, more so than the straight, smooth lines of the other pages. It was visited the most often, for obvious reasons, and one picture in particular was under a constant cover of various fingerprints and smears that bore an uncanny resemblance to lip-marks. Just one picture, hardly any different than the others at first glance, save for a shock of blond hair that was so rarely seen. Yet its subject made the bland gray background look glorious, the awful fluorescent flood seem to glow – that one picture of that one doctor that everyone paused to admire for just a bit longer than the others.

The hospital directory was a valuable possession, indeed. Patients were expected to use it as a guide to learn which doctor specialized in which field, to locate offices and make note of important phone numbers. Though more often than not, it could be found in the hands of several or more female high school students who had become tremendously bored in the waiting room.

A certain pair of familiar teenage girls were giggling behind the book that afternoon when he passed through the waiting area. Although it was not so unnatural for there to be giggling in the background wherever he was present, Doctor Cullen made no outward show of being affected by the obvious sounds.

There seemed to be an unusual amount of giggling going on today.

His fingers flipped casually through several charts on the counter, taking his time because that was what the other doctors did. He even made a point to go a bit slower than the average doctor, just to keep suspicions as low as they may be.

They joked about it, saying it was perfectly acceptable for someone his age to take his time; after all, he was not counting the ticks on the clock toward his last years. It was ironic that he was, in reality, older than every person who had ever set foot in this hospital… But they were right about one thing. He wasn't counting on death anytime soon.

Gathering up the charts of his assigned patients, Carlisle made his way back to examination room where another familiar face awaited him.

"Mrs. Cheney," he acknowledged upon entry.

The elderly woman was among his most his most cooperative patients, and for that Carlisle could not be more thankful. During a hectic day, it was better to end with calm rather than chaos.

She nodded with a smile, arm already raised for the blood pressure cuff.

Her exam passed smoothly, without a stitch. Carlisle sometimes allowed himself to hasten the motions while alone with an unsuspecting patient. She would never say anything, never notice that he may have been just a bit too agile for a doctor at the end of a tiring shift. Admittedly, he had no excuses; he was just rather eager to go home...

"Doctor..." she addressed him tentatively as he pasted label after label on the blood tubes.

Her interruption startled him just enough to slow his pacing before she noticed something was awry.

"Just a moment," he said before finishing the last of the labels.

"Doctor Cullen, you have..."

"I'm sorry?" he turned around sharply, alarmed by the feel of something brushing his back.

Her face was apologetic, a trifle confused. "It's just—" Her hand caught the side of his coat, holding it up for him to see.

Placed strategically on the very center of the back of his lab coat was a small, shiny pink sticker in the shape of a heart.

The profuse giggling that had been following him all day long now made so much more sense.

While Carlisle's first instinct was to burst into laughter, he expertly feigned confusion for the sake of his observant patient.

"Ah... my granddaughter," he explained fondly as he peeled the sticker from his coat.

"_You_ have a granddaughter?" Mrs. Cheney looked as though she might be on the brink of a mild heart attack. Considering she herself had only one very _young _grandchild while at the ripe old age of sixty-seven, it may very well have been possible.

Carlisle froze.

Thinking fast, he quickly amended, "Excuse me, my _niece._" He chuckled, shamelessly injecting more charm than he would have cared to in the presence of an honorable older woman. The scent of her immediate blush put him at ease as she nodded her head with a helpless but wry sort of smile.

"She likes to decorate my outfits every now and again," he explained as he placed Nessie's sticker discreetly into his front shirt pocket. "Needless to say, our tastes in what merits good accessory differs rather drastically."

Mrs. Cheney laughed, and her doctor sighed in relief.

It was an interesting way to end the day.

But the second (and much better) part of the day began when he returned to the house. It hadn't surprised him that the first sounds he heard were the scurrying of her tiny feet up the stairs.

He laughed helplessly, nearly disturbed by the utterly boyish sound. He was seconds from bolting up the stairs after the guilty culprit when a soft but eager pair of arms enveloped his shoulders from behind.

"Not so fast, Doctor," the breathless silk voice murmured in his ear – a voice so delightfully familiar it sent chills straight through to his heart.

"She did it again," he said; cryptic it may have been to anyone else, but his wife knew precisely to what he was referring. His eyes remained fixed on the stairs, his feet fully prepared to chase the wild scampers that filled the hallway above them.

Esme's airy giggles warmed the back of his neck as she disrobed him of his jacket. He stepped forward as she freed him from the sleeves, but she pulled him back with a rich rise in her laughter, as if trying to settle an unruly pet.

"Who found it this time?" she questioned.

"One of my patients."

Esme gasped in the midst of her laughter, her sparkling humor coating his heart.

"It isn't funny," Carlisle murmured, utterly and completely insincere. If the plain grin on his lips did not betray him, than the rampant fondness in his voice certainly did.

Still behind him, his wife reached around to pat the left side of his chest. "Yes, it is."

"Well, it was much better than the one from last week, at least."

Esme furrowed her brow in mock recollection. "Now what was that last one?"

"A teddy bear, darling."

"Oh, right…" Esme all but snorted in her effort not to laugh harder. "Of course."

He sighed. "You're not on my side at all, are you?"

"How could I be? It's much too fun for us girls, you know," Esme teased, finally coming around to face him. Her smile was twice as gratifying to his eyes after being hidden for too long behind him. He leaned in suggestively to kiss her, but she pressed two fingers to his lips and pulled away. "You'd better hurry up and catch her."

The sound of Nessie's feet promptly swept across the ceiling from one end of the hall to the other.

A nudge of Esme's hand was all the encouragement he needed before he flashed up the stairs and into the hall, his heart tremulous with the sounds of his granddaughter's gasping giggles.

He delayed discovering her for as long as he could stand it, opening and closing every door on his way down the cramp corridor. He knew where she was from the second he reached the top of the stairs. The light twinge of the mattress springs, then the feathery pounce of the pillows had given her away. She was hiding under the covers of his bed.

At last he reached his bedroom door, taking an extra few seconds to struggle with the handle before pushing it open. If it were not for the immediate, excitable shift of her body beneath the pillows, he may not have been able to notice her at all.

She was more clever than they gave her credit for.

He cleared his throat once and she, predictably, squealed from under the cover. Taking the sticker out from his pocket, he stepped softly over to the bedside and brushed one hand over the covers in the guise of an accidental stroke.

An uncontainable grin stole his face as he swiftly lifted the pillow that hid her head from view. He was greeted with a burst of coppery curls and a high-pitched but surprisingly pleasant shriek. She quickly rolled over to stuff her face into the mattress, as if hiding her expression would make her any less guilty...

"I didn't do it!" was her immediate defense.

Smirking unabashedly, Carlisle managed to roll Nessie onto her back, her blistering brown eyes blinking innocently up at him. The trembling remnants of hesitant laughter lingered on her lips as she held her hands to her chin, prepared to cover the evidence should it spring forth unexpectedly.

He raised an eyebrow and presented her with the single heart-shaped sticker in question, pasted to the center of his palm. "Recognize this?"

Her sparkling eyes flicked to the door behind him briefly before meeting his inquiring gaze once again. She shook her head 'no', but said nothing.

He twisted one of her curls around his finger and gave a loving tug. "When is this going to stop, Ness?"

"Never!" she shouted triumphantly, flipping over to bury her face in the pillows again.

Oh, he hoped it wouldn't.

"Do you think it's funny to embarrass me in front of my patients and colleagues?"

Her laughter quieted, and for a moment he worried she had missed the teasing tone in his voice.

But not a second later, a muffled "Um..." traveled up from under the quilt.

Well, that was that, then.

On a whim, Carlisle took the sticker and secured it to the back of Nessie's wrinkled nightshirt. Never easily fooled, his granddaughter shot up instantly from her cave of pillows to pick at the tiny pink heart. "Hey!"

"See how you like it, hm?" he said with a playful ruffle of her hair. With that, he rose from the bed, leaving her to wrestle with the adhesive pest.

Carlisle backed slowly out the door where Esme stood watching the scene with a noticeably suspicious smile on her face. "What are you looking so chipper about?" he asked her.

She laughed brightly, he presumed, at his choice of word. "I'm allowed to smile, sweetheart."

"I never said you weren't," he said softly, laying his forehead against hers before she could slip away from him again. "I love when you smile," he added with a caress of his finger along her bottom lip.

"Good. Because my cheeks can't hurt anymore when I smile too much, so I like to do it as often as I can."

Carlisle chuckled affectionately at his wife's predictably peculiar antics. Once their foreheads touched, they seemed unable to pull away from each other, their close but loose embrace kindling a quiet cloud of intimacy around them as the melody of Nessie's mumbling faded in the background.

"You never kissed me when I came home," he accused in a sad voice.

"Hmm... You're not getting a kiss today, Carlisle," Esme mused gently, under the shade of a taunting smile.

His heart dropped at her cruel words. "What?"

"Well, you weren't very nice to your granddaughter today, accusing her of embarrassing you in your place of work and all..."

He gave a short laugh of disbelief. "You know I was only teasing her."

Leaning down slowly, he tried again, in vain, to claim his wife's lovely lips.

"You shouldn't have put that sticker on her..." Esme sighed with a glance back to the bedroom where Nessie was still struggling. "She still can't get it off," she added with a stifled laugh.

"She could use a taste of her own medicine," he decided, playfully vengeful as he savored the silent victory of watching Nessie pluck the sticker from her clothes at long last.

"Oh, Carlisle," Esme let her head fall back with a whimsical sigh, "You're hopeless, my dear... Do you know that?"

Confused but not caring, Carlisle seized the moment to steal the kiss he sought.

But just before he could intercept her lips, Esme ducked her head into crook of his neck to whisper against his ear.

"Besides... I was the one who put the sticker on you this morning."

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_**A/N: **__The sticker story is another tidbit from my own childhood. My father is a doctor, and as a little girl I used to put stickers on the back of his lab coat before he left for work in the morning. Despite having a medical degree, my dad isn't the most observant guy, so his patients would always be the ones to notice the stickers when he was walking around in his office. ;) _

_Thank you for reading! To put a sticker on my back, you can leave a review. ^-^_


	7. Dream of the Sky: Part II

**Dream of the Sky: Part II**

_This chapter is a continuation from MelissaMargaret's one-shot, "Dream of the Sky." If you have not yet read it, I definitely recommend that you read it before you read this chapter. She wrote it for me, so it means a lot to me, and I wanted to continue it here because I loved it so much._

_Thanks again, Mel. You are the best, always. ^.^_

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Esme's hand was alone.

However unfortunate, it was common that her hand might be lying by itself on a surface somewhere. In this case, it was perched lightly on her knee as she stared out the window, watching the peaceful dance of lazy snowflakes as they fell from the sky.

Carlisle hated to see Esme's hand all alone.

There had been days long ago when they each used to dream of holding the other's hand in this way. It had been nothing more than a thrilling fantasy back then. Sometimes they felt that all they could do was _dream _of that touch. He would stare longingly at her hand, and she would stare longingly at his. It was the most ironic tragedy that they both wanted to hold hands, but neither of them had the courage to do it. Neither had the courage to reach out and create that heavenly link.

Eventually a miracle would occur, and one of them would introduce the gesture by timidly creeping several fingers over the other's wrist where it lay alone.

This very morning, Carlisle had chosen this gentlest of methods by which to claim his wife's lonely hand.

Esme's heart fluttered reminiscently as the memory of Carlisle's shyness tingled through the sweet gesture. She was not as surprised to feel his probing fingers now, nearly a century later, but she was easily just as thrilled.

To this day, there had never been a time when she refused his hand.

"You look ever so distant, my love," Carlisle mentioned as he moved in beside his wife where she stood staring out at the snow. "What are you thinking about?"

Esme had a habit of waiting by the window when they were expecting a guest – most specifically when that guest happened to be their granddaughter.

"I'm wondering...what will be the first thing she says when she comes through the door."

Carlisle chuckled fondly. "That seems a fairly useless thing to wonder. She is awfully unpredictable."

Esme's radiant smile reflected in the frosty glass. "I know."

And it _had _been a useless effort to wonder what Nessie would say when she came through their door.

Only twenty minutes later, a silver car slowed as it passed by their driveway. The back door opened to drop off a hyper little girl, and with a light tap of the horn, the car swiftly disappeared around the curve in the road.

Nessie came sprinting up the sidewalk, her pace slowed considerably by the snow and the heavy pink coat she wore that nearly swallowed her tiny body. She stumbled gracefully over the icy threshold, a giggling whirlwind of bubblegum pink and long chestnut curls. Her arms immediately stretched forward to invite her grandmother into a violent embrace, which was returned with just as much passion.

"Guess what, Gramma?" she began breathlessly.

Unpredictable indeed.

"What?" Esme gasped, pulling back to get a better look at her eager little face.

"I know what snowflakes taste like!" she declared excitedly.

"Do you now?" Esme humored as she shut the door.

"Have you ever tasted a snowflake before?" Nessie asked, as if it would be a great transgression not to.

"Yes, I believe I have – several times, in fact."

"What about you, Grandpa?"

"Of course I have tasted snowflakes," Carlisle assured in an offended voice as he bent down to tickle her mercilessly.

To any other witness it would be a simple scene of familial love, but to Esme it was a scene worthy of reverence. Watching Carlisle interact with their granddaughter in such a lighthearted way did incurable things to her vulnerable heart. It was the most silly thing that his childish grin made her knees grow weak. The scene as it played out before her on the foyer floor was hopelessly maudlin for no reason at all.

Esme found that having Renesmee around often resulted in an exhausted heart when the day was through.

Allowing a moment for her granddaughter's laughter to die down, Esme bent down beside her husband to remove a pair of pink earmuffs from a head full of bouncy brown ringlets.

"What do you want to do first, Nessie?" she asked, willing to indulge the child in anything she could suggest.

"Ummm..." Nessie's sparkling brown eyes darted about the room, a winsome half-smile curling on her lips as she sheepishly looked back to the man and woman who watched her, shrugging her indifference.

Carlisle and Esme exchanged a quick glance before Esme stood up, brushing the snow from her clothes.

"If you're not too cold, we could go back outside."

Nessie looked doubtfully out the window. "What will we do out there?"

Knowing the best way to intrigue her, Esme whispered. "Do you want to touch the sky?"

Nessie's large brown eyes glanced wonderingly between her grandparents' faces, as if waiting for one to slip with a chuckle, revealing that it was all just a tease.

"Touch the sky?" she whispered in awe. "How?"

Esme's heart tightened at the precious sound. "Come outside, and I'll show you," she said as she took her granddaughter's hand. Before Carlisle could slip the earmuffs back onto Nessie's head, she was running ahead of her followers, leading the way though she knew not where they were headed.

Esme let Nessie drag her around the side of the house, her feet moving impressively fast for someone so small. It was as if Nessie somehow knew her surprise was waiting for her just in the backyard.

Nessie gasped as she caught sight of her swing – and Esme could not deny how perfect a scene it was, hanging from the tallest tree, beneath the falling snow. Nessie's mitten-covered hand broke contact with the one it held, and she rushed to the tree at the end of the yard, squealing with excitement all the way. Her tiny legs did impressive damage to the smooth layer of snow in her path.

So many times when Nessie had visited the playground, there was always a chance that every swing would already be taken by another child. Now she had one swing to call her own. There were no other children for miles around to come and steal it before she did. She did not need to be running towards it...but she couldn't help herself. The glowing expression on Nessie's face as her little hands grasped the chains told Esme precisely how perfect her gift had been.

"It's so high!" Nessie exclaimed with her arms outspread in wonder. "Much higher than those ones at the playground," she added with a note of pride.

"And it's all yours," Esme reminded as she walked up to place one hand on the chain.

"Is it really high enough for me to touch the sky?" Nessie asked secretively.

"Why don't we find out?" Esme proposed as she lifted her granddaughter onto the swing.

Nessie's hands gripped the chains tightly as Esme raised her up for the first push forward. At the park it had always been Carlisle who had pushed her on the swings. As vampires they were both equally capable of handling any weight however heavy or light it might be. But here, it was simply right that Esme was the one helping her grandchild reach the sky. After all, Carlisle had done it countless times before. Now he was free to watch.

Esme could see where he leaned against the tree beside her, his eyes following Nessie as she went higher and higher, entranced by the pendulum motion. He did not notice that several snowflakes had landed on his shoulders and in his hair, or that the wind had discreetly flipped his collar inside-out. He was unbothered by anything around him save for the happy little girl on the swing…and the woman who was trying to help her reach the sky.

Nessie's exuberance could be heard for miles around…except there _was_ no one to hear it for miles around. The exquisite squeals of her joy were theirs to savor alone. Her enchanting giggles echoed endlessly throughout the yard as she reached for the clouds above, over and over and over again.

"I'm touching the sky!" she boasted in the humblest of ways, her hands daring to let go at the topmost crest.

They would never know what was going through Nessie's mind as she rode through the air. They would never know just how fascinating it was to watch the snowflakes striking the wind like stars as she catapulted toward the sky. They would not experience that delightful plummet of imbalance between their ribs as the swing dropped back to earth. They would not know the delightful danger of losing hold on the chains and falling straight to the ground below. But Nessie felt and saw and knew all of these things.

How beautiful the imagination of a child was.

Eventually the hands of the one who pushed her would cease their tireless labor. Nessie sometimes regretted that feeling of sinking as the swing came lower and lower to the ground. But this time she found that she was satisfied with the ride she had taken. This time she felt ready to come back to earth.

Though she had contributed no exertion herself, she was breathless by the time her feet were dragging through the snow on the ground. Her eyes were glistening from laughter, and she was shivering all over from the chill of the gripping wind.

"I want to do it again," she said unthinkingly, her words muffled by her chattering teeth.

"Later," Carlisle whispered, stepping forward to lift her into his arms. "You're freezing." He chuckled as her shaking hands clutched at his shoulders. She did not fight back as he carried her away from her beloved swing.

At the door, Carlisle handed the shivering bundle over to his waiting wife so he could ready the fireplace.

"Did you like your gift, Nessie?" Esme asked as she set her granddaughter down on the floor to remove her boots and mittens.

"Mm hm." Nessie nodded, her face alight with a most beautiful grin that reminded Esme very strongly of Edward. "Thank you, Gramma," she whispered as she pulled Esme down for a hug. "It was the best present ever."

Esme's joy was uncontainable. She laughed in jubilation, squeezing Nessie's tiny hand as she pulled her from the floor. "Let's get you warmed up."

**-}0{-**

Nessie always thought there was something magical about the fireplace. She watched with wonder in her large brown eyes as her grandfather opened the gates to reveal the hollow, dark space within. He would place a single wooden log in the bed of gray ashes, light a match and toss it inside. At first it would start with just a flicker of bright blue at the base of the log, then slowly, deftly, the flames would lick their way over the bark, climbing their way to the top where they could show off in a flamboyant golden dance.

It was a wonderful thing to be so close to the fireplace. She could see every tiny spark that jumped from the flames. She could feel the comforting waves of heat rolling out from the flu. The warmth of the fire made her feel sleepy. They had moved the sofa just a bit closer to the fireplace so that they could lay together on the ground, and they had gathered together three blankets to cover their bodies.

Nessie always kept her mother's favorite T-shirt blanket close at hand when she stayed at her grandparents' house. She had used it so much that it had started to get worn on the corners, but she didn't mind. It was just as warm as it always had been, and twice as comfortable.

The blankets her grandparents used, however, were very different from her own. Nessie loved to lose herself in the elaborate designs of her grandmother's beautiful Persian quilt. It had dizzying patterns all across it, swirling vines of rich purple and green, and shiny yellow tassels on the ends. Secretly, Nessie believed her grandmother's blanket was really a magic carpet. It was silky to the touch, though more decorative in place of practicality. That blanket was awfully pretty to look at, but not very good for keeping warm.

Her grandfather's blanket, however, had been made for winter's nights. It had been woven ages ago by the hands of a young Native American woman, bearing the primitive patterns of tribal symbols and simple but haunting geometric shapes. It was thick and slightly scratchy to the touch, stitched with muted colors of sand and earthy reds.

Each blanket on its own was lovely, but not as exciting as when it was placed beside the others. All three of their blankets together made a fascinating puzzle of colors and textures that Nessie found most appealing. Snuggling beneath all three with the fire blazing a few feet away was the surest way to keep warm on a chilly evening. It was the thing Nessie looked forward to doing most when the weather grew cold.

She would tuck herself between her grandparents where they sat on the carpet, alternating the resting place of her head on both their shoulders every fifteen minutes or so. She found neither more preferable than the other, but they were distinctly different. Her grandmother's arm was slender and had more a tendency to fidget, while her grandfather's arm was stronger, barely moving for however long she chose to lean her head against it.

Between the two of them, Nessie always knew that she was looked after. Feelings of safety and security were addictive to a child, but more than that, she was addicted to the feeling of being loved.

Both Carlisle and Esme's efforts to indulge their granddaughter's addiction were particularly shameless.

On winter nights like this, Carlisle would tell Nessie fairytales he'd heard from all the places he had been in his travels across the world. Strangely enough, Nessie's favorites were of the old Norwegian variety. She enjoyed the macabre delights of the darker folktales – a taste they all assumed she had inherited from her mother. Nessie's eyes grew impossibly wide as she listened to the stories of trolls, and haunted forests, and golden castles that were suspended in the sky.

The stories were exaggerated to offer a more substantial amount of stimulation for their special child, but Esme was just as entranced as she listened to Carlisle telling them. The wealth of tales he managed to recount, either by memory or by sheer impromptu, were both disturbing and enchanting. In the days when they had just been getting to know one another, Esme had often asked Carlisle to tell her stories from his travels just to listen to his voice. The ancient strains of his accent had a tendency to slip through more profusely when he spoke of folklore. There was something exquisitely soothing and mystical about the way he told those stories. It was no wonder that a child of Nessie's age had the desire to always hear more.

Sometimes Carlisle told her the stories from his head, and sometimes he read them from a book. If there were no pictures in that book, however, Esme had to quickly sketch an elaborate illustration to go along with the story he read. After the story was over, Nessie would color in Esme's sketches as her imagination saw fit. For being so tiny, her hands were impressively fast, not to mention talented. This trait, they assumed, came from her father.

Nessie's hand currently rested atop her grandfather's while he told her every story she had requested to hear. The image of a small hand protecting a larger one was such a gorgeous paradox – Esme watched the scene with the same contented joy that she watched every other interaction between her family. Her husband's hand beneath the hand of their granddaughter would have made a lovely painting. In the midst of sketching fairytale characters for Nessie to color, Esme's pencil accidentally began to form the contours of the two linked hands on the blanket in front of her…

Unwilling to crumple the paper and start over, Esme instead finished sketching both their hands and tucked the folded piece of paper behind a pillow where she could treasure the touching moment forever.

Swiping the graphite from her fingers, Esme pulled out a new piece of paper to continue her hasty illustrations off the tales Carlisle told.

Hans Christian Anderson's _Thumbelina _was Nessie's favorite fairytale. The brave but timid heroine reminded them of her – a curious little girl with big dreams and an even bigger heart. It was appropriate that Nessie had asked to hear it over and over again. Though her memory was nearly as flawless as theirs, there was always something to gain from hearing it told a slightly different way. There was something to gain from simply _hearing _it told in her grandfather's familiar voice.

"Poor Thumbelina," Nessie remarked just after Carlisle had declared a happily ever after.

"Why do you say that, darling?" Carlisle asked, concerned that he had somehow missed a vital part of the story before its conclusion.

"I bet she never got to ride on a swing in her whole life," Nessie explained sympathetically. "She's too small."

Esme could not help but giggle. "She's only a fairytale character, sweetheart."

"I know," Nessie sighed, staring longingly out the window. "But still."

"Come, look what I drew for you, Nessie." Esme pressed several black and white sketches of Thumbelina the fairy princess into Nessie's lap.

Nessie's gloomy pout quirked into a small smile as she was handed a basket of colored pencils. Pink always seemed to be her first choice of color when she was presented with a blank piece of paper. She quickly got to work coloring in the fancy dress the princess had worn in her imagination.

But Nessie was always considerate of outside opinions.

"What colors should I make her wings?" she asked with the tip of the pencil held thoughtfully to her cheek.

"Hmm," Esme pondered, "if I were to have my own pair of wings I'd want them to be blue like the sky."

Nessie turned to her grandfather, not about to exclude his sentiments on this most important matter.

"I think they should be golden," Carlisle offered.

"I'll make them blue with gold stars on them," Nessie compromised.

There was no telling why they found it so entertaining to simply watch her scribble away for an hour with her basket of colored pencils and a few sheets of paper. They offered their input only when she requested it, never wishing to interrupt the creative genius that was the mind of a child. It was endlessly fascinating to see her finished works. No matter how elementary they may have looked to anyone else, they always thought Nessie's drawings to be worthy of display in the Metropolitan.

The door of their refrigerator was the closest thing to any prestigious museum.

It was getting awfully crowded on that freezer door, as they just refused to take any of her drawings down. Esme needed to buy more magnets.

After a luxurious yawn, Nessie asked, "Do you think I could go back on the swing tonight?"

Trying very hard not to show his amused smile, Carlisle pretended to consider, "I don't know, sweetheart. It will be very cold once it's dark out. It might not be safe."

"Please?" she implored, her hands folded beneath her chin.

"You want to touch the stars, don't you?" Esme asked knowingly, her eyes conveying the same mystique she had seen in her granddaughter's face as they looked longingly out the window.

Nessie nodded. "And the moon."

With no way to refuse this most innocent and ambitious of dreams, Carlisle reluctantly gave his permission. "Alright. But just for a little while."

Though she had just been yawning mere seconds ago, Nessie unrolled herself from her blanket with a squeal of excitement, heading for the closet to fetch her coat.

No minute was wasted in the bitter cold night as Nessie demanded a never-ending ride into the starry sky. Her hands reached up for the moon and the stars, and her dream of the sky was no longer just a dream – it was real.

As the swing finally slowed to a stop, Nessie was lifted into a pair of tender arms. Whether they were the slender, fidgety pair or the strong, sturdy pair she could not tell. She had fallen into a peaceful slumber well before they reached the door.

Her heavy coat and winter boots were shed by two pairs of cautious hands before she was taken into the living room where the fire was just beginning to die down. As Esme gathered up the colored sketches from the carpet, Carlisle laid Nessie down on the sofa, covering her with all three of the blankets they had left on the floor.

He knelt beside his sleeping granddaughter to remove her fluffy pink earmuffs and push back her rebellious copper curls so that he could place a single kiss on her forehead. Nessie stirred in her sleep, turning onto her side as she pulled the covers closer to her chin. As she shifted on the sofa, a small piece of folded paper fell out from underneath her pillow. Curious, Carlisle reached for the mysterious piece of paper, unfolding it with careful hands.

On the inside of the stark white page, sketched exquisitely in silvery graphite, was the stunning picture of his own hand…linked with that of his granddaughter.

An unbearable wave of burning affection flooded Carlisle's chest as he rose to his feet, carrying the forgotten sketch in his right hand. He followed his wife's lovely scent into the kitchen where she was decorating the front of the refrigerator with colorful pictures of fairytale characters.

Esme stood back to appraise her granddaughter's collection of coloring pages, well aware that her husband was inches behind her.

"Aren't they perfect?" Esme asked him with a sigh.

Winding one hand around her waist, Carlisle held out before his wife the most perfect sketch of all.

"I believe you left one behind."

* * *

_**A/N: **__Oh gosh, the fluff… it's killing me… _

_So Nessie finally gets a swing of her very own. ^_^ Thank you again to Melissa for the inspiring one-shot and to anyone who made it through this fluff fest alive! _

_I'd love to hear what you think, and as always cute and funny stories from your childhood are always welcome. ;)_


	8. Christmas Angel

**Chapter 8: **

**Christmas Angel**

* * *

"It's Christmas Eve, Nessie," Edward's low voice reminded over the phone.

His daughter's eyes widened as she remembered. "But I won't see you tonight," she said with a pout. "We're snowed in."

"The roads will be clear tomorrow, honey. Don't worry about a thing... Gramma and Grandpa will take good care of you," he said softly. "I'll bet Gramma has plenty more decorating for you to help her with tonight."

Esme smiled to herself as she overheard her son's comment. Nessie looked to her grandmother with wishful eyes, and Esme gave a light nod of confirmation. Turning her attention back to the telephone on her shoulder, the child pursed her lips in thought. "I'll still miss you."

"I'll be there first thing in the morning to see you," Edward spoke reassuringly through the fuzzy connection. "We'll all be there to celebrate Christmas together."

Nessie clutched the receiver a little tighter and sighed. "Promise?"

Edward chuckled. "Promise, Ness."

Esme tried to remain quiet while she watched the subtle interactions between the daughter and her absent father. Esme heard every word her son had said over the line, his muffled voice sending a pang to her heart as she thought about how deeply she missed him as well. Maybe even more than Nessie did...

"Let me talk to your daddy for a second, Nessie." Esme found herself reaching out for the telephone, her fingers grazing those of a tiny, tightly clutching hand.

Nessie whispered into the receiver, "Gramma wants to talk to you."

Edward already knew this. The smile was evident in his voice. "Put her on, sweetheart."

"I love you," Nessie said quietly, as if telling a secret.

"I love you, too, baby."

"Tell mommy I love her," Nessie ordered, her sweet voice almost tinged with warning.

"I just did," Edward laughed. "Now let me talk to Gramma."

"Okay."

With hands that rivaled those of an eager child, Esme's fingers greedily consumed the telephone from her granddaughter's reluctant grip. After an apologetic smile, Esme spoke quietly into the receiver. "How are you? How's Bella?"

"We're fine, Esme," Edward laughed gently. "On our way back from Montana now. The snow seems to be clearing up the further west we travel. I meant what I said when I told Nessie the roads would be clear before tomorrow. We'll make it, I promise."

Esme breathed a shaky sigh. "Thank you."

There was a brief pause on the other end as Edward sniffed in amusement. "Did you just bless yourself?"

"No."

"You thought of it."

"Sometimes I wonder if you can read my mind over the phone, Edward," Esme confessed, smiling fondly.

"No, I just know you too well by now, I think."

"I love you, darling."

Esme could almost hear the roll of his eyes.

"Let me guess: you want me to let Bella know that you love her, too."

"You're too much."

Bella's muffled voice spoke up a predictable response in the near background.

"Bella says tell Carlisle she loves him, too."

"Yes, I heard her..." Grinning, Esme shook her head, wondering how long they could continue this chain of "_I love you_"'s.

"There's too much love going around," Edward complained half-heartedly. "It's not even Christmas yet."

Esme released a heavy sigh as she turned to face the frost-laced window. "It's close enough."

"We'll see you tomorrow," Edward reassured.

"Sunrise, Edward. Not a second later."

"I've got it."

"Take care," the mother whispered

"You too," her son whispered back.

And the line was disconnected.

**-}0{-**

Earlier that day, Esme had taken Nessie to the candy store, before the blizzard hit. The candy store at Christmastime was any child's dream come true, but Nessie had been more fascinated with the posters of commercialized gingerbread houses on display all across the store's windows.

"Can we make a gingerbread mansion, Gramma?" she had asked.

Esme never resisted Nessie. Often the girl's ideas were in perfect accordance with Esme's own. In this case, Nessie had taken the exact words out of Esme's mouth.

"We certainly can, darling."

They made their way down every aisle, savoring their journey as they navigated the shiny, colorful shelves full of sweets. Their restless hands swept away random boxes and jars as they passed through, filling their cart to the brim with candy, cookies, pretzels, and holly berries.

Several customers gave the pair a look of dread as they passed them. '_How dare this mother spoil her child in such a way?_' they were perhaps wondering, '_Has she no inkling of how all of those sweets will affect her health?'_

If only they'd known Esme had a doctor for a husband.

No amount of judgmental stares could keep the indulgent grin from Esme's face. Nessie's cheeks were flush with excitement as she selected everything to her heart's content from every shelf. And from the shelves she could not reach, Esme was quick to take her requests and retrieve them one by one.

The cart was loaded with red, green, white, and gold by the time they reached the checkout. Nessie looked on with glee as the woman behind the counter worked a classic old fashioned cash register. Esme wondered where it would be possible to purchase an antique cash register for a Christmas present...

Briefly, she even thought of offering a small sum right then and there.

Anything to make her Nessie happy.

But Nessie was already smiling.

They made their way home through the thickening snow, Nessie dancing in her big furry boots all the way up to the door. Those boots looked far too big for her when she walked, and Esme tried desperately to hold in her laugher, instead offering sporadic compliments to her granddaughter's attempts at mimicking the ballerinas from _The_ _Nutcracker Suite_. Nessie even hummed the songs from the ballet, not missing a single note. She certainly had inherited her father's ear.

Esme walked into the house with one hyper grandchild, laying all of their overstuffed shopping bags on the kitchen table. Nessie was already restless and Esme wanted to find some way to keep her busy until Carlisle came home from work.

"Maybe we could start decorating the tree now, Ness," Esme offered. She had seen the girl's eyes light up the moment they showed her the bare evergreen in their living room. They had invited her over for the sole purpose of helping them to decorate that tree. A six-year-old just had a much better eye for that kind of decorating. Even Esme was willing to surrender her designer's genius in giving Nessie full reign of the holiday decor.

The tree was still bare, standing by the window in their living room so that it could be seen from the road at night. It filled the air with a thick forestlike fragrance, as if calling to the house's inhabitants to come and decorate it.

But the tree would be saved for last.

"I do _want_ to decorate the tree," Nessie confided, turning to the lonely piece of nature they had set up in their home. "But I want us _all _to decorate the tree together." She looked pleadingly to Esme. "Can we wait until Grandpa comes home first?"

"Yes, darling," Esme beamed with pride at her granddaughter's endearing benevolence. "Of course we can wait."

They waited for quite a while.

Esme had been expecting her husband to return home at least before five o'clock. Already it was six thirty, and he had not yet called to give reason for his tardiness. Nessie was growing ever more impatient, asking every other minute when he was going to arrive so they could begin their work on the waiting tree.

Running low on reassurances, Esme directed Nessie into the kitchen where she suggested they start work on their gingerbread house instead.

"Gingerbread _mansion_, Gramma," Nessie patiently reminded.

Nessie's enthusiasm from the moment they began their daunting craft confirmed Esme's suspicion that all children preferred the messier activities to the ones where they could keep tidy. The result of their mess, however, was not very messy at all. Together they had done an impressive job at keeping the plans for their mansion architecturally sound, thanks to Esme's experience in extreme renovation. Building houses from bricks was one thing; building them from poorly cut shapes of gingerbread was quite another.

Still, they had managed to glue the pieces together with strings of vanilla frosting in the guise of clumpy snow that had gathered on the roof. The roof was then patched with pieces of bran cereal, the windows reinforced with melted Jolly Rancher candies in place of stained glass, the walkway to the door of the house was lined with miniature gumdrops of every color, and the chocolate chimney was topped with a piece of cotton stuffing for smoke. Nessie's creative side was a force to be reckoned with. All she needed were the tools to release the contents of her imagination into the world.

Esme's heart ached as she finally opened the plastic bag of powdered sugar, watching Nessie's tiny hand reach inside to dust the finished house with sugar snow. Her nervous glances back at the digital clock on the stove were doubling every minute, and there was still no sign of her husband.

She lingered at the sink every so often to stare out the window, hoping and waiting for his car to pull into the driving, but there was not even a single car out on the streets for fear of the dangerous conditions.

"Are you looking for Grandpa?" Nessie's tiny voice startled Esme from behind.

Esme looked down into curious brown eyes, unable to put on a dishonest charade for her benefit. Nessie was mature. She would understand the circumstances. Disappointment could not be helped, but she was better off hearing the truth.

"Your grandfather may be unable to make it home tonight, sweetheart," Esme confided, reaching down to lift the little girl into her arms. Taking immediate advantage of the new height, Nessie leaned forward to press her forehead against the glass of the window, searching for a sign that would prove her grandmother wrong.

"But it's only snow..." Nessie shrugged, eyes alight with optimism. "He's not afraid of snow like other people are."

Esme allowed herself a grudging laugh. "That's true." Her eyes furrowed as she gazed back out at the disastrous state of the road. "But sometimes we have to pretend to fear the things that other people do, to be safe." She gave her granddaughter a meaningful look, trusting that Nessie would understand. She always did.

Nodding silently, Nessie sank down from Esme's arms until her socks had reached the floor. "Does this mean we have to decorate the Christmas tree by ourselves?"

Hating that she could say nothing to cure the pout on Nessie's face, Esme nodded. "I think so, honey. But don't worry. There's a good part to doing it that way."

"What's that?" Nessie asked.

Esme sighed optimistically. "Well, if we finish all of the decorating ourselves, then he'll be very surprised when he comes home and sees what a wonderful job we did."

Nessie still did not seem very convinced. "I guess so."

"Chin up, sweetheart." Esme reached down to give her granddaughter's chin a loving tap. "Remember, everyone is going to see the tree tomorrow, we have to make it perfect."

An expression of lovely determination took over Nessie's sweet face as she reached for the box of ornaments. "I can do that."

"I know you can."

They worked through the remainder of the evening together, untangling lights and sorting out ornaments by color before they hung them on the proper branches. Nessie had decided on multi-colored Christmas lights instead of white. "All white is just too plain," she said with a shrug.

As an artist, Esme had to agree with her. The more colors, the better.

The box of ornaments emptied slowly. As Nessie lifted each separate ornament from its hiding place, they both paused for a whole minute to admire it. The shiny blue cherub, and the sparkly green wreath, and the purple and gold camel were all too pretty to just place on the tree without a good long stare. Nessie loved to slowly turn each ornament under every color light before she found the perfect place to hang it. Esme would lift Nessie to reach a higher branch every so often, but the top of the tree was still bare, awaiting its crown.

"Gramma...?"

Esme looked away from the fireplace to glance back at Nessie where she stood, cradling the golden winged angel in her hands. Her head was tipped back as she stared longingly up to the top of the tree.

"What is it, sugarplum?"

"How will we reach the top of the tree?"

Esme's heart nearly shattered at the look of lost hope on Nessie's face as she turned around, the angel lying prone in her little arms.

"Oh..." Both their hearts sank as it dawned on them that the only way to reach the very top of that tree was for someone much taller to lift Nessie up...

Nessie was waiting for Esme to say something to reassure her, to reveal that there was a clever alternative, some secret way to reach higher than they had managed before. Just as the pressure to speak grew too great to bear, the sound of a single car on the road outside touched their disbelieving ears.

The grin that broke across Nessie's tiny face was intoxicating. She bolted for the door before he could even welcome himself inside with a predictable, "I'm home."

Those words were still there, muffled by the attack of his overeager granddaughter. He always said _"I'm home."_ And Esme always heard him say it.

Such a simple pair of words – but what they declared was so important to his wife that she could not just pass them off as a dismissively repetitive phrase. No matter how many times he said those words, they never got old. Never.

Every time she heard them, whether he called out for the entire house to hear, or whether he whispered the words for only her ears, Esme was filled with an overwhelming joy that only her husband could ignite within her.

"Where _were _you?" Nessie demanded, after the sappy welcomes were uttered and the fierce hugs were delivered. "We had to decorate the tree without you!"

Esme watched as her husband quickly covered a wince with a reverent stream of apologies. "I'm so sorry, sweetheart," he said as he stooped down on one knee before his granddaughter, "I tried my best to be home sooner, truly I did. It was either come home very late tonight or wait until tomorrow, and I didn't want to wait that long before I saw you again..." He gave her little hand a squeeze and tilted his head to the side, eyes filled with winsome apology. He just barely managed to contain a smile as he asked for her forgiveness.

"It's okay," Nessie consented, patting the hand that held hers. "Just don't let the snow scare you next time!"

They laughed as Nessie pranced back into the living room, shouting animatedly about something or other on her way.

With the child busy in the next room, Esme swiftly approached her husband who was still poised on one knee where Nessie had left him. He waited until his wife's foot was close enough to brush against his before rising from the ground. Esme's head turned up to meet his eyes at the new level, tingling with the warm aftereffects of pure relief that he was finally here.

"We have a rather unpleasant history with blizzards," she murmured, her words loaded with significance which Carlisle caught easily.

"At least this time it was closer to twelve hours, and not twelve days," he whispered back, encasing her waist between gloved hands.

"Never leave me at home during a blizzard again, Carlisle." The timid desperation that tinged her voice was anything but helpful when she wished to chide her husband. Carlisle seemed to understand perfectly that she meant every word of what she had said, regardless.

"You know I won't, love," he promised, tugging his wife closer as he was happily consumed by her warm lips.

"The angel..." Esme's whisper was all but lost between their relentless current of kisses.

"What, darling?" His voice was a deep and blissful intrusion, but he was anything but distracted from the task of his tongue.

"She needs you to help her reach the top of the tree," Esme tried to explain, placing two calming hands on his shoulders to tame him before they got too carried away.

He hummed gently in acknowledgement before taking his wife's hands and kissing each to ensure his promise. Knowing she was now free from accidental interruption, Nessie peeked her head around the wall to beckon the couple back into the living room.

Once she had their full attention, Nessie held up the angel for Carlisle to see. "She has to be at the very top."

Bending down to ruffle her curls, Carlisle whispered over her head. "Shall I lift you up?"

Nessie nodded, eyes still fixed on the empty branch at the crest of the tree.

She breathed a petite gasp as her feet left the ground – age had not diminished the wonder that filled her large brown eyes when defying the forces of gravity. She still looked so _elated _to part ways with the carpet, still so awestruck that her gaze was level with the very top of the tree.

Carefully, she slid the angel onto the topmost branch, taking an extra few moments to tuck and smooth her skirt evenly all around.

Sensing she had finished the job, Carlisle slowly lowered Nessie to the floor. Her gaze never left the angel at the top of the tree, and as she took a step back to view her work, her eyes furrowed at something she must not have liked.

"What is it, precious?"

She tilted her head back to appraise the tree. "The angel – she's crooked."

"Well, we can't have that, now, can we?" Carlisle clicked his tongue in disapproval, glancing back at his wife with a secretive smile. "How's that?" he asked, tilting the angel slightly to the side to balance it properly.

"Much better," Nessie approved.

Esme readily embraced her granddaughter from behind. "I think you _have_ made a perfect Christmas tree, Nessie."

She made more than just the tree perfect, but even if they told her this, she would perhaps never comprehend just how true it was.

"What do we do now?" Nessie asked bluntly.

Esme didn't even have to think. "Now we turn off all the lights, and we stare at the tree, and we think about how beautiful it is."

Nessie giggled her approval. "Okay." Despite the utter simplicity of her grandmother's proposition, it held a mysterious appeal to her youthful mind.

When the room around them was utterly dark, the Christmas lights seemed to sparkle extra brightly. There was only one sofa in the room that directly faced the tree, and though it was meant for only two people, all three of them managed to fit. Nessie snuggled between her grandparents, knowing very well that was where she was expected to be – they would allow her to sit no place else. They wanted her to be as close as possible to both of them, and she took care to always fulfill their mutual wish.

She brushed their hands on her way to sit between them on the sofa, and each of their minds was filled with glorious memories from the decorating the young girl had done throughout the day. They saw the bright golden angel up close as she placed it on the top of the tree, and the snowflakes dancing outside the child's window at dawn, and a curious brown-eyed reflection in a shiny red ornament. Nessie wanted them to see these things; she wanted to share the wonder of her day with them, knowing they would find it just as wonderful.

They had promised to look at the tree and think of how beautiful it was...but the only one who had actually followed through with this plan was Nessie.

Carlisle and Esme were far too busy looking at their granddaughter and thinking about how beautiful _she _was. The tree was just a pretty but forgotten decoration in the background.

There must have been something soothing in the twinkling lights and the fragrance of pine and the crackling of the dying fire – because before they knew it, Nessie had fallen fast asleep. It was forever a wonder to them that sleep was possible for her. Sleep was a fascinating curse, and one a child was more likely to succumb to as she spent her energy in generous amounts throughout the day.

Carlisle raised his arm and tucked his sleeping granddaughter closer, her small head pressed against the viridian green wool of his sweater. She mumbled the most beautifully incoherent nonsense as she rubbed her head against his neck, another habit she had inherited from her once human mother.

Esme watched with wonder as her husband appeared to be swept away by slumber himself. His eyes closed as he rested his head back, his drowsy mumbling anything but incoherent. "She's so warm... So fragile..."

It was difficult not to be in awe of Nessie for her human qualities. She was, in a way, a beautiful bridge to a different reality for them all. Her parents were in awe over her for a different reason – one that was no less legitimate, but one that blinded them to the wonder the rest found in her.

"Do you want to bring her upstairs?" Esme asked, knowing what her husband's answer would be before he even spoke it.

Carlisle silently moved his head from side to side, his large hands holding the tiny body tighter.

"Let her sleep here tonight," he decided.

"I was hoping you'd say that," Esme whispered, moving closer to stroke her fingers through Nessie's curls.

"Esme…" his voice was quiet, full of awe, "I can see her dreams."

"What is she dreaming about?"

Carlisle wordlessly picked up his wife's hand and placed it on Nessie's back.

Esme saw so many things. The faces of each of her children. The golden warmth of firelight and heavy white fluff of snowflakes. She watched tiny hands reach for the stars and tiny footprints trailing in the snow. The world was so very big and beautiful in Nessie's eyes. Even without the jarring effect of a vampire's senses, the eyes of a child saw things in just as much wonder and clarity.

With every breath her granddaughter took, Esme's hand rose and fell on her warm back. Every shift of her little body welcomed a new, brighter wave of images into the hands of the couple who held her.

"Isn't it amazing?" Carlisle asked.

"Yes," Esme agreed. "She is."

* * *

_**A/N:** __I hope everyone had a wonderful holiday! Thank you for reading, and have a great new year! ^_^_


	9. Concerning Colored Tissue Paper

**Chapter 9:**

**Concerning Colored Tissue Paper**

* * *

As Carlisle peered out the windshield of his car, he could see that clouds above were bruised with spots of an oncoming storm. On any other day he would have made plans to be out and about, taking advantage of the gray weather to be among humans, but today was different. His granddaughter was staying at his house for the afternoon, and the blessing of a half-day allowed him to spend a few precious hours with her before Edward came to pick her up.

The first thing Carlisle wanted to do when he came home was kiss Renesmee on the cheek.

Sometimes he would sneak up on her from behind and kiss her unexpectedly before she even knew he was home. He couldn't do that to anyone else in his family. The element of surprise was only something he could enjoy with his half-human granddaughter, and it fascinated him. Though Nessie's senses were excellent, they were still not strong enough to catch him every time he did it.

Maybe today she would catch him.

He smiled at the thought and turned quickly onto the back roads that led to his house. Already he could hear the faint sounds of clamoring in the kitchen, a popular room of choice for whatever projects Esme had planned for her day. Esme was always determined that Nessie could never be bored when she came to spend the day at their house.

"He's home."

They were the first words he heard Esme say when he pulled into the driveway.

He loved hearing those words _– _probably just as much as she enjoyed hearing him say _"I'm home." _

Carlisle almost always announced his arrival when he entered the door, but sometimes, like today, Esme would beat him to it when she heard his car coming up the drive. She would then take it upon herself to make the announcement, in the form of two eagerly whispered words.

_He's home._

Every time she said that, he enjoyed the strange, fleeting role of a hero coming home from a long day. It was funny how two small words could make him feel so important, so loved.

After parking his car in the garage, he hastily gathered up his bag and an armful of papers, and carried them up the basement stairs. He could hear the happy, silly sounds in the kitchen growing louder as he made his way to the second floor.

He pushed open the door at the top of the staircase and found his wife there waiting for him. A little way down the hall, Nessie's infectious laughter echoed from the kitchen. His plans to sneak up on his granddaughter were already thwarted. But that was all right. Esme had caught him first.

"What have you two been up to?" he asked when he noticed the teasing expression on his wife's face.

"Nothing so far," Esme admitted, her hands already moving to free him of his lab coat. "We were just making plans for what to do when you came home."

Another suspicious bout of giggles came from the direction of the kitchen, where Nessie appeared to be flicking the light switch off and on as a signal for attention.

"And what might those be?" Carlisle asked with an uncertain chuckle.

"It's a surprise," Esme informed him, a cryptic glint in her eye as she stood on her toes to kiss the corner of his mouth. "But I may need to borrow your finger once we get started," she added as a whispered afterthought before slipping back through the dark hallway.

A knowing smile crossed his face. There was only one occasion for which Esme ever needed to "borrow" his finger. Well, no, there were very many occasions...but only one, he could guess, was still permissible with their very alert granddaughter in the house.

Sure enough, when he turned the corner into the kitchen, he found the table strewn with tissue paper of every color, and a grinning Renesmee sitting proudly in the middle of the mess.

"We're going to make flowers!" she exclaimed. "Out of paper!"

He couldn't help but laugh. Everything was so remarkably new to this child, yet she had so little time to discover it all while she was still young. No matter how wise or intelligent she was for her age, the simplest things still made her giddy with wonder.

"Are you now?" Carlisle asked, his question intended more for the woman in the room than the little girl. He threw his wife a sidelong glance and was rewarded with a shy flutter of hazel eyelashes.

"She wants to learn," Esme said innocently, busying herself at the sink.

Even as her curls tumbled into her face, Carlisle could sense the wide smile hidden on Esme's lips as she vigorously washed her hands.

Somehow he did not think her enthusiasm with that bar of soap had much to do with preparing for her craft.

At least not the one that was waiting for her on the kitchen table.

Carlisle quickly curtailed a stream of particularly wicked urges, aware that his granddaughter's eyes were now fixed on his face. He noticed her slightly pleading expression and remembered that he had not yet greeted her as he'd planned. All at once, the unconcealed love came pouring back into his heart. He tucked his doctor's bag into one of the chairs and bent to kiss Nessie's furrowed forehead, gently moving his fingers through her fine coppery hair.

His hands felt large and cumbersome when they framed her tiny head. He could manage a cadaver with limitless grace, but when it came to touching a child's face, he sometimes felt a pang of concern. His touch was harmless, he knew, but the very human worry was still there, reminding him to use care.

The splashing sounds of Esme's hands in the sink faded momentarily as Carlisle's lips brushed Nessie's soft skin. Her little hands came up around him, just barely wide enough to trap him in a full embrace. Slightly heartbroken that there was nothing he could do to alter the breadth of his shoulders, Carlisle attempted to squeeze himself casually into the narrow margin of Nessie's outstretched arms.

He succeeded.

Nessie beamed as she released him. "Did you have a good day?"

The conscientious question threw him off guard. Just a glimpse of Renesmee's chubby cheeks and twinkling eyes could often make him forget her immense maturity.

"I did. Thank you," he replied, bemused. "I assume yours has been going well, too?"

His eyes scanned the messy tabletop again. If he hadn't had perfect memory, he might have forgotten what color the surface was.

Nessie nodded emphatically, swinging her stubby legs back and forth over the edge of the table. "Uh huh!"

He ruffled her ringlets one more time before making his way over to the sink, where Esme was still hunched over the running faucet. Soft white steam billowed from the sink now, along with the strong citrus sting of kitchen soap.

Carlisle came up behind his wife and contentedly watched her while she scrubbed dishes he was certain were already clean.

"Paper flowers?"

His husky whisper was drowned out by the rush of warm water. Accompanied by his words was the pressure of a gentle hand, which slipped precariously around her hip.

Esme tilted her head to the side and gripped her dishcloth a little tighter as she rubbed down one small ceramic saucer. Her fingers were barely visible beneath the soapy foam. "We had to entertain ourselves somehow while you were gone," she whispered back.

Her charade of innocence was awfully endearing.

He tucked his chin over the curve of her shoulder and murmured into her ear. "Do tell me why you seem to favor this positively _primitive_ form of art, my dear."

When five wet, slippery fingers reached back to drag his hand into the sink with hers, Carlisle assumed Esme had chosen to answer him without words.

Safe beneath the bubbly surface, she kneaded his fingers one by one with the washcloth under the sinfully warm water.

"Let's just say, it's very 'hands-on,'" she hinted softly.

His belly felt blissfully tight as she pressed her bottom against his lap. When he gently nudged her back, she moaned _–_ softly enough that only one pair of ears could hear.

It was easy enough forcing himself to behave when he had only to glance up and see the little girl humming happily on their kitchen table. But it had occurred to him that Nessie could _not_ see what was happening _inside _the sink. His fingers took full advantage of that fact.

His thumb drew shapes on the inside of Esme's wrist, while her forefingers tickled the center of his palm. He wove his fingers neatly between each of hers, and she gave his wedding band a loving twist. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see his wife timidly biting down on her lower lip, most likely trying to conceal some other delightful little noise.

Disregarding his promise to behave, he decided to see if he could coax it out of her.

Again, he succeeded.

Esme disguised her happy whimper as one of mild irritation by purposefully knocking the bar of soap to the ground with her elbow. "Oh, bother," she gasped, yanking both arms out of the sink to reach down for the fallen soap.

Carlisle stepped back carefully from the scene, knowing his wife's subtle outburst was likely to have snagged Nessie's undivided attention.

"What are you doing?" her high voice queried, ripe with a child's suspicion.

Esme stood up at once, looking beautifully flustered as she guiltily turned the faucet off. She seemed to be thinking up how to best answer her granddaughter, though Carlisle was fairly certain the question had been directed at them both.

"Washing our hands," he said without looking at Nessie, hoping she would be satisfied with his direct and sensible answer.

"Why?"

His eyes squeezed shut with a fond wince. Her suspicion cut like a butter knife. It didn't hurt so badly, but it was just sharp enough.

This time Esme was on her toes. "Because your grandfather just got home from working at the hospital, where all the icky germs are."

"But _you _weren't at the hospital today, Gramma," Nessie pointed out. The butter knife was slowly becoming a steak knife.

Carlisle looked up just in time to watch Esme's face break into a pleased smile. "I was just..._helping_ him wash all the icky germs off."

Apparently her explanation made perfect sense to a concerned child.

"Oh."

As if nothing had even happened, Nessie turned away, her interest now invested in the continents of colored paper spread out on the table.

Carlisle reluctantly pulled his forearm out of the hot water, slightly upset that his hand bath was over, but somewhat eager to see what would come of their paper flower making.

He began to lazily dab his hand dry with a fresh kitchen towel, his eyes trained on Esme's face as she finished stacking the sparkling dishes on the counter.

Before either of them could segue into the next item of business, Nessie asked brightly, "Do I have to wash my hands too?"

Unable to resist looking over his shoulder, Carlisle smiled at Nessie as she nobly held up both her palms for inspection.

"Your hands look perfectly clean to me, sweetheart."

She experimentally turned both hands around to study her palms with scrutinizing eyes. She pouted, looked up, and pleaded, "Then can we please make some flowers now?"

Esme's musical laughter made him long to get his hands wet again.

"Of course we can."

Carlisle couldn't help but grin when he saw Nessie's eyes light up. If only all children were as inherently sweet as she was... Of course, he may have been just a little bit biased.

"Now..." Esme rubbed her hands together as she approached the table. "What color should our first flower be?"

Nessie looked up and down the table, her eyes frantic at having to choose just one among so many lovely shades. "Umm..." She placed a finger on her lip and looked back and forth between her grandparents, as if seeking their input before she made a decision.

"It's up to you," Carlisle encouraged, leaning casually back against the counter to show his indifference.

He noticed Esme's eyes flee from his face just before Nessie shouted, "Purple!"

Esme was delighted. "Purple is one of my very favorites."

Carlisle watched as his wife seated herself in the chair closest to Nessie. He knew that if their granddaughter had not already claimed the space, Esme would be sitting up on that table herself. She was truly a child at heart.

He watched her eyes shine with joy as she patiently walked Nessie through the simple yet tricky steps of making paper flowers. Not so long ago, it seemed, Esme had been teaching _him_ how to make paper flowers using tissue paper and glue. Her creative mind was too fast to keep up with sometimes, even for him. He remembered being fascinated by the way her fingers moved so deftly and easily as they carried out the craft. It took a lot to intimidate an accomplished surgeon, but Carlisle had been very, very intimidated by those delicate petals of tissue paper when Esme first showed him...

Utter fondness cradled his heart when Esme tossed her head back in laughter. Nessie's little fingers were still clumsy from inexperience, but she was willing to spend all day trying until she got it right. Several flowers wilted when her efforts failed, an experience Carlisle was quite familiar with. It seemed she was not upset in the slightest at her first few mistakes. If any child realized the value of failure before success, it was his granddaughter.

"You know, there is a trick to getting the petals to stick just right," Esme suddenly said.

From the suggestion in her tone, Carlisle had a feeling he would be participating in their flower-making very soon.

"What kind of trick?" Nessie asked, intrigued.

Esme glanced over at Carlisle, and the fingers on his right hand twitched hopefully.

"We'll need a hand from your grandfather," she said, extending her arm towards Carlisle. They exchanged mischievous smiles at her play on words.

Carlisle sat himself down beside them and all too gladly offered his hand to his wife. Nessie looked on curiously from her perch on the dining table as Esme slowly began to wrap the magenta tissue paper around his index finger.

Nessie uttered an awkward little giggle of glee when she understood how the "trick" worked.

Carlisle hoped to the heavens that was _all _she understood.

After all, Esme was touching him more...liberally than necessary. Her fingers inherently made the task a sensual one. Each time the tissue brushed the base of his knuckle, he was reminded of the first time she used his finger to help her make a paper flower, taking her merry time in wrapping layer by layer around his fingertip. Perhaps it was all in his head, and the innocent mind of a six-year-old child couldn't grasp the same things he saw when Esme touched him this way.

Esme's eyes met his for a few moments as she finished arranging the petals to her liking, and they shared a distant smile of reminiscence.

Once she finished tucking everything into place, she carefully lifted the perfect paper blossom from his finger and placed it neatly on the stem, securing it with a drop of glue. Esme held the finished flower up proudly and handed it back to her granddaughter. "See?"

"Can I try?" Nessie asked, bouncing in place, her hand already waving a circle of pale orange tissue paper.

Carlisle wasn't sure a repeat demonstration would be as thrilling the second time around, but he was more than happy to accommodate his granddaughter in any way possible.

If that meant having his finger twisted and turned in every direction, and dripping with glue by the time she was done, so be it.

His prediction wasn't too far off. Granted, Nessie had insisted on trying multiple times before she mastered the task at hand. Carlisle spent more time scraping the dried glue off his knuckles than he did acting as an apparatus for Nessie's enthusiastic experimentation.

Esme seemed to be enjoying herself thoroughly.

In Carlisle's mind, that made it all worth it.

After half an hour, Nessie had finally gotten the hang of it. She made roses and tulips and daisies and carnations, in all different colors and all different sizes. She arranged them in forty different ways, and grouped them into twenty different bouquets.

Carlisle hoped Bella and Edward wouldn't mind making a trip to the arts and crafts store sometime before tomorrow. Tissue paper would be in high demand as far as their daughter was concerned.

Esme added to her childish amusement by offering to spray each blossom with perfume so they would smell like real flowers. Nessie got a bit carried away with the spritzing, resulting in one empty bottle of very expensive Ralph Lauren signature fragrance.

When Carlisle opened the windows to let some fresh air inside, he noticed Edward's car in the driveway. Unfortunately, he didn't have enough time to warn his son before he came to pick up Nessie.

"What is going _on_ here?" Edward muttered to himself when he opened the door.

Esme looked up at her husband, her eyes wide with playful fear as they heard their son come stalking through the hall.

Standing in the threshold of the kitchen, Edward took one look of mild horror at the mess of tissue paper, perfume, and glue, and suddenly seemed eager to vacate the house as soon as possible.

"Daddy, look at the flowers I made!" Nessie exclaimed, jumping up and down as she waved her bouquets like pompoms in the air for Edward to see. "Aren't they pretty? I'm going to give some to Mom when I get home."

Edward fought a smirk as he stared accusingly at Esme. "Very nice."

"You can have this blue one," Nessie informed him as she slyly placed one bright blue paper flower into the pocket of her father's jeans.

Carlisle choked on a laugh, impressed that his son hadn't automatically rolled his eyes. Then again, Edward's reactions were very different now that he was a father. Everything Nessie did was precious to him; sometimes he just didn't admit it in the open.

"Alright, say goodbye, Ness," Edward sighed, lifting his daughter up off the ground so she could kiss each of her grandparent's cheeks.

Carlisle escorted his son and granddaughter to the door while Esme stayed in the kitchen, pretending to clean up.

"Thanks for watching her," Edward said with a genuine smile as he adjusted Nessie on his hip.

"Thank you for letting us," Carlisle chuckled.

Edward groaned softly as his eyes darted in the direction of the kitchen. "If my kitchen table ends up looking like yours did in there, I'll know just who to blame."

Nessie bit her lip to keep from grinning, exchanging a gleefully guilty look with her grandfather before hiding her face in Edward's neck.

"It was Esme's idea," Carlisle murmured, knowing full well his wife could hear him. She wanted to be blamed for Nessie's having fun, even if that blame came with a price.

Edward's eyebrows went up as he nodded in understanding. "I gathered as much."

Growing impatient with standing in the doorway, Nessie waved her scented bouquet in the air between the two men, putting an abrupt end to their conversation.

Amused, Carlisle stole Nessie's fidgeting hand and pressed a quick, teasing kiss to the back of it. She laughed instinctively and yanked her hand away, face still hidden in her father's shoulder.

"See you tomorrow," Edward said with a hopeless grin as he stepped onto the porch.

Once he'd turned around, Carlisle caught Nessie's eyes peeking over Edward's shoulder. She lifted her tiny hand in one last wave goodbye. Carlisle mirrored the gesture with a loving smile and closed the door behind them.

When he came back into the kitchen, Carlisle noticed that his wife had not done anything to help clean the mess on the table. If anything, it looked even messier than it had before.

With Nessie gone, Esme had taken her coveted spot, perched on the center of the kitchen table. Carlisle knew that spot wouldn't stay empty for long. His wife still looked a rare beauty, sitting lazily amongst the strewn bits of paper and bottles and glue, her feet bare, and her summery denim skirt riding up to her knees.

In the absence of their guests, Carlisle didn't bother to keep his telltale smile hidden.

Esme was indecently giddy. "Come over here so I can...wrap my petals around your finger." Her eruption of involuntary giggles ended with a long, mirthful sigh.

Carlisle growled softly as he came to stand where her legs dangled over the edge of the table. He lifted one small foot to his waist and skimmed his finger across her brightly painted toes. Before he could elaborate his touch, she pried her foot away so she could wrap both her legs around his.

She suggestively tapped her ankles on the backs of his knees as he pressed his cheek against hers.

"Why do you tease me like that in front of our granddaughter?" he whispered into her neck, peppering her silky skin with kisses between words.

She sighed languidly and tilted her head back to give him more room. "Because, dear, it makes everything so much more…" Her thighs gently squeezed his hips. "…entertaining." He could hear the deviant smile in her voice, and it made his stomach twist into a heavenly knot.

His hands moved slowly around her back to stir the pieces of leftover colored paper on the table behind her. "What on earth are we going to do with all this tissue paper?"

Esme's fingers traveled up the back of his neck, drawing him down for a sweet kiss. "I'll think of something creative," she promised.

"I'm sure you will."

* * *

**Don't ask me what "creative" plans Esme has in mind for the tissue paper. I don't even know the answer to that myself! **

**Thanks so much to penguineloversunite for suggesting that I write this scene.**


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